


I Dreamt That I Grew Old With You

by Cellestial



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, F/F, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Past Abuse, Romance, Slow Burn, Trauma, possible minor character death, reasonable doses of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 115,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23827531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cellestial/pseuds/Cellestial
Summary: In a godless land torn asunder by the Blight, a heretic with two names meets a heathen with thirty years left to live. It all began with a wedding day gone wrong, when an elf killed a human, marking the day Carmen Tabris would be forced to leave behind everything she knew, faced with awakened abilities she never wanted in exchange for a delayed death sentence. As an elf copes with the notion of living on borrowed time, and a human with a dark past struggles to find her true self, two broken people strive to heal from trauma. Things get messy, as they always do. Finding hope—much less love—is an arduous journey in itself.Features light canon-divergence.
Relationships: Leliana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 78
Kudos: 191





	1. An Isle of Flightless Birds

**9:20 Dragon**

Gods never fell gracefully, and she had always been a girl with an ear for the minor key. So why now, did the helpless cries of a bird sway her heart?

“You can’t unite Ferelden on an empty stomach, Carmen.”

Mother’s soup was something to always look forward to during the coldest days of Wintermarch. From beyond the cabin walls, it was just short of a few yards north from freezing to death, and a thin layer of snow had gathered along the rooftops, as if a giant had spilt a bag of powder over the alienage. Anything heavier, and the wood threatened to crack under the weight. Hahren could ill afford to fix last year’s damages, and at this rate, it would’ve been no better than to sleep under the great tree. 

“But mother, I found a bird.”

“What’s that now?” Mother raised an eyebrow, without looking up from brewing the pot. 

“A bird. Think its wing is broken.”

Adaia finally looked up at her daughter and the feathered little thing that fit so perfectly cradled in the girl's hands, as if those hands were made to carry birds. She waved Carmen over, inspecting the kind of damage the wing had suffered.

“Hmm, doesn’t seem infected. It’s just dislocated. The bones will have to be set first or it will heal wrong,” she thought out loud. The bird barely struggled, and after that was done, she wrapped it into a piece of blanket, placing it in a small basket. The faint chirps emanated from within seemed to call out to her. 

Carmen looked over her shoulder with concern. “Will it be alright?”

“Long as it doesn’t move too much, the wing should heal by itself. We can only pray the bones weren't fractured, and if it’s still strong enough to fly. I’ll have to check on it in the mornin'.” 

Sagging with relief, Carmen peered over to watch the bird snuggle into its makeshift bed. Its coat was a nice shade of beige, with a blotch of orange by its tail like a lit fire match. It seemed silly then, to worry over something so small and frivolous. An animal that could potentially even be a meal during those days when they couldn't afford one, no less. The morbidity of it was nothing less but the truth of their reality. But when its beady, black eyes looked up at her—and she could've sworn it twinkled—Carmen found herself curiously determined to never see another bird left flightless again.

“It’s a nightingale,” said mother. “They never stop singing, and the chirping you hear at night? You can be sure it’s one of them.” She continued to work on the vegetables piled over the board. “They say nightingales are an omen of hope. That even in darkness, a song is still being sung.”

Carmen wondered how many years she had left before she stopped believing in such things. The older kids told her it wouldn't be long before she started scoffing at every old wives' tale and superstition like they did. A broken mirror meant seven years of bad luck, touch wood to prevent a jinx, or pour salt on your doorstep to keep the demons away. She supposed it never hurt to be too careful. Whatever divine forces were out there influencing the world, deciding who got the short end of the stick and who got the pot of gold, her only hope at the moment was that they too heard the nightingale's cries and would take pity on the poor creature. Carmen couldn't imagine being so privileged as to be born aliferous, only to spend the rest of your days grounded. That would be a tragedy no quill and ink could capture. 

While the soup lightly bubbled, mother occupied herself with cutting the tomato skins. The aroma of the contents gave off a distinct smell. One that encompassed the entire living room and seeped into her clothes. If ten years from now, someone were to ask her what her childhood smelled like, she would be able to confidently tell them that it smelled like _this._ It smelled of petrichor, ambrosia, and safety. Shelling nuts, chopping onions, grinding brown sugar into fine dust; they were tedious tasks, but it was often quite relaxing to watch her mother cook, listening to the crackle of the stove and her faint humming. 

“Say, how about I bring you to the yard come morrow, and help you flex that sword arm?”

Carmen’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to! I can’t wait to be as strong and mighty as the Hero of River Dane.” It had been a while since she and her mother had trained together. Father had said it was still too soon to start carrying weapons again, too worried for his own good. But that didn’t stop the two from practising in secret of course.

When Carmen was seven winters old, she learned of the legend that was Loghain Mac Tir, the Hero of Riverdane. Every Fereldan and their mothers knew about about his story. How he, alongside King Maric, freed the country from the Orlesians. A most galiant tale that was the cause of many broken tree branches as replicas for swords. Imagination did the rest.

Her mother chuckled at her enthusiasm. “You know, he wasn't always a knight. The servants at the castle say he was once the son of a farmer.”

“Really, a commoner?” She couldn't believe her.

“Mhmm. Born and bred as one, and had the calloused hands to prove it. Or so I've heard.” Mother began to pour the soup into the wooden bowls on the table.

Carmen sometimes pondered about what it must've been like during those days under the Orlesian rule. To be a rebel and enemy in your own country, and that a farmer of all things could rise to become a knight and fight beside the rightful king. Was it as exciting as how the bards told it? Here in the alienage, at the eve of First Day, the songs of heroes enraptured a little girl who was still waiting for her call to adventure. 

“Do you think I’ll ever be like him? A hero?” she suddenly asked.

Despite the dark forests that resided in the girl's eyes, they still gleamed with the bittersweetness of naivety, and her mother gave her a sad smile. “I’ll tell you when you’re Loghain’s age.”

Carmen’s brows furrowed. “But I’ll never be Loghain’s age. He’ll always be about twenty years older than me.”

Her mother laughed, a rich and fleeting sound that disappeared into the cracks of the cabin’s wood.

“Touché.”

* * *

**9:30 Dragon**

The bulk of the white dress hugged her tall frame awkwardly, and she was once again struggling to take another breath through the corset that caged her ribs a little too tightly. It wasn’t the most extravagant looking thing, but it was passable. If an Orlesian noble so much as overheard the words 'wedding dress' being used to describe the step-above-rags she was in now, they would scoff into their wine glasses and curl their lips at what was considered common wear by their standards. Not enough flowers and ribbons, probably. Despite the repeated reassurances from Shianni that she looked just fine in it, and that she absolutely _shouldn't_ bring a sheathed sword to the altar, she was still queasy. 

“Could I at least bring a dagger?”

“It's a _wedding_ , cousin. What do you need a dagger for?”

Carmen could think of many reasons why one should carry a dagger on their person at all times, but none of them seemed to really convey her true feelings of the matter justice. She simply felt naked without a weapon. Carmen didn't see why there was any problem with bringing one, for a dagger could be slipped into her sleeves and be easily concealed, but she suspected father wouldn't be pleased if he found out.

As if sensing her thoughts, her father, Cyrion, walked into the living room dressed in a garment that made him look younger than he really was, if you squinted. With a short embrace, he took a good look at her. 

“There's my little girl. It's the last day I'll be able to call her that,” he said wistfully. “I won't even pretend to be surprised she slept in.”

“Trust me, she had more trouble getting out of the bed than into her dress,” Shianni said flippantly, earning her a glare from Carmen.

Cyrion chuckled while shaking his head. He rarely smiled these days. Which was why Carmen begrudgingly went along with the whole wedding thing to begin with. She had jokingly entertained the notion of running off to the Dalish in her mind, but thought better to hold her tongue. What was there to say? Local daughter didn't want to go through with the arranged marriage. Oldest story in the book, and overdone to death too. She wouldn't be the first, nor would she be the last. 

“Why don't you meet us outside at the Vhenadahl, Shianni? Soris and the rest will be waiting there as well,” he said, while Shianni nodded and began to make her leave. “ _Oh,_ and don't forget to make a routine check of the kitchens. Make sure the sugar is still sugar, and not salt.”

Carmen smirked. “Let me guess, Sera's at it again?”

“You bet your ass,” Shianni chimed in. “That little rascal put a lizard in my boot last week! Heard she's moving out of here in a few days too. Some shem lady apparently said she'd take her in.”

“Huh.” Carmen figured it was probably for the best anyway. “Lucky her, I guess.”

“Not so much for that woman.” Shianni snickered on her way out the door.

While Carmen finished braiding her hair into a coiled bun, her father made his way behind her, fastening a necklace around her neck. The jeweled brooch chilled the flat of her chest. 

“I do hope you try to at least be a bit courteous with your betrothed.”

“Why wouldn't I be courteous?” she asked with an innocent smile.

“ _Carmen._ ”

She chuckled. "Alright alright, no blades will be drawn, lest I intimidate him before he can muster an 'I do' at the altar.”

“At least not until after the wedding. Especially about that whole mercenary business,” her father said, growing serious. "We don't want to seem like trouble-makers after all. Adaia made that mistake.”

Carmen's eyes hardened. “What happened to her was not her fault.”

He sighed. “Carmen, we went over this. You know our world is full of so many injustices. There's nothing we can do about that. We just have to...carry on.”

 _'We will always carry on. For that is all we can do._ ' But for how long?

“Maker, I can sometimes see her eyes in you.” Her father looked at her with a forlorn expression. “My daughter might be getting married. But to me, she'll still always be that little girl with tiny braids, scraped knees, and a rebellious streak. I know your mother would be so proud of you.”

Carmen turned solemn. “I just wish she was here.”

“I know, lass. Me too.” He patted her shoulder. The two seldom spoke of her mother these days anymore. Often, the memory of what happened left a hollow feeling in her chest. “But come, let us not keep the others waiting.”

* * *

It was noon by the time the festivities began. They had all gathered around the tree while waiting for the Chantry Mother’s arrival, and Carmen fiddled with the little umbrella in her drink of lemonade. Children played, their clumsy hands constructing flower crowns made for play-pretend kings and queens, a resting place for the bees. The blue daisies nestled softly in the waves of her hair as they tickled the tip of her ears. She had never felt more out of place, but the sentiment was sweet. Though Carmen doubted she’d ever hear the end of Shianni teasing her about how she was around children. Especially after she had told them that story of Tathas, the sneaky elven bandit who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. A personal favourite, really, even if the elders reprimended her for being a 'bad influence'. It was all very lovely, and the day was, daresay, beautiful. So why did Carmen's stomach refuse to stop lurching? 

“I can't do this,” she mumbled.

“What?” 

_Shianni! Shit._ “Uh, nothing.”

Her cousin sighed. “Relax, you've probably just got the heebie-jeebies.”

Carmen gave her a side-eye. “Don't be absurd.” She picked at the sleeves of her dress for a moment. “Hmm, maybe,” she finally said.

“Look, it'll be fine, you'll see.” Shianni fixed a loose strand of Carmen's hair and tucked it behind her ears.

She didn't reply.

It would be fine, wouldn't it? It wasn't as if her betrothed was a mouth-breather like she feared. He was actually a pretty decent lad. But how in the world would Carmen be able to explain to her father that the problem didn't lie with Nelaros himself? At least, not with him _as a person_. There was that voice again, the voice that she thought she had gotten rid of by now. _Run,_ it said. Carmen exhaled a breath incredulously. She couldn't run, that would be mad. It was cutting it a little too close anyway. There was nothing more cliché than leaving the spouse at the altar, just before saying your vows. No, Carmen had seen enough of that in dramatic plays to last her a lifetime. She liked to believe she had better standards than that.

 _Run,_ it said again. Carmen groaned. Enough of these intrusive thoughts. She was going to get married today, be a good house-wife, bear and raise his children, then die of old age in some sorry little shack like they all did. That was what father wanted. That was the will of Hahren, the will of the family. Perhaps she should give it a chance. Maybe the domestic life wouldn't be too terrible for her after all. So Carmen downed her drink of lemonade and went to take a walk, lest the small seed of bitterness came to fruition in the form of doing something she'd regret.

Music permeated the alienage like the encompassing aroma of cinnamon in a bakery. Many had already taken to dancing along to a folk-like tune she couldn't quite remember the name of. A light breeze filled the air, coupled with the excited buzz of conversations about the wedding. Or more accurately, the double wedding. Both she and her cousin, Soris, were getting married on the same day to their respective betrotheds, and nearly everyone was at attendance. That was one thing that would never change about the alienage. Word spread quicker than wildfire, and few would ever miss an event like this, if only to have an excuse to get utterly pissed and wasted. Nothing got a bloke up and running again than a belly full of mead. All things considered, the alienage wasn't all that large in comparison to the rest of Denerim, only taking up a small portion of the city and isolated from the rest of the humans. New faces never lingered for long. Because of this, everyone knew each other.

And it was this tight sense of familiarity that had her notice someone different here today. 

Vaughan Kendells. Now _that_ was a right arse raised under a family of rich tits, where not a single person ever said ‘no’ to him in his entire life, and of course, his following of fart sniffers were always close behind. She had close encounters with ilk like him as a wee child who didn't listen when they told her not to get too close to the noble's estate. He sauntered in like he owned the place. High class aristocrat man like him; wore a fancy vest in front of folks in rags because he could, jewlery around his neck worth more than she could make in a year. The sight of him here made Carmen's muscles coil like a tense spring.

“And what do we have here? A wedding, and _I_ wasn’t invited?” Vaughan feigned hurt, his voice dripping with venom, before trying to grab one of the maidens. 

“Milord, we don’t want any trouble. Please leave,” said one of the elves.

“Now that’s no way to treat your guests. This is a party, isn’t it? Grab a whore and have a good time!” He laughed cruelly along with his friends. Skimming the crowd, his eyes landed on Shianni. “Take _that_ elven wench there...so young and vulnerable.”

Always, they were young. Sometimes, he'd go for anyone that looked no older than eighteen. Afraid, easily intimidated, _inexperienced,_ just the way he liked them. They were easy pickings and everyone knew it. Even as her cousin threw a sling of curses at him in protest, of course, Vaughan waved her off, completely unbothered. Like he had just finished looking over a piece of meat at a food stall and was moving onto the next item of interest. 

“And what’s this, the bride itself?" He turned to Carmen now, leering at her up and down hungrily. “Another one to keep me company.”

“Sod off, Vaughan. Why don't you scurry back to your estate. You and your bloody wankers, yeah?” She stood defiantly, silently daring him to give her a reason. 

But he smirked, damn well delighted with her response. “Oh ho, this one has spirit as well! I’ll most definitely enjoy taming you.” 

Carmen refused to rise to the bait, and merely rolled her eyes. “You lot are all fur coats and no knickers, you are.”

It wasn't the first time she had to tell a human off, and usually if you gave them a push without humiliating them too much, they'd just call you a filthy little rabbit and move on to harass some other unfortunate elf. Usually. But before things could escalate, a shattering of glass surprised everyone. Next thing she knew, Vaughan was on the ground, limp and motionless. _Shianni,_ her eyes grew wide, _what have you-_

“Do you realize what you’ve done?! The arl of Denerim will have your hides, knife-ears!” Vaughan’s goons proceeded to carry his unconscious body, looking appalled at the audacity of an elf having attacked a noble.

Shianni, only seconds ago looking furious, suddenly became very frightened now, after realizing she just struck the arl's son. No one really knew just how much they were in deep shit for that, but honestly, Carmen couldn’t blame her. A second longer of being exposed to Vaughan’s idiotic lechery and she would’ve done the same. In fact, she came _this_ close to personally backhanding him to the sun, and there was certain degree of satisfaction in seeing him eat dirt. No doubt, any sort of blunt force would be a healthy remedy to the dullard's head.

Carmen stepped up to one of the buffoons, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you can tell Vaughan when he wakes up from his little nap, that if he wants to show his face here again, it’ll be after he scrapes it off the underside of my _boot._ ” Her Ferelden accent grew thicker with each passing syllable, and her voice grew deeper until it was a restrained teeth-grinding threat, as Carmen suppressed the urge to personally silence the remaining two fools.

The goons said nothing, only sending her a glare, before carrying Vaughan out of the alienage. Probably not the best way they could've handled the situation, but since Shianni had already put one foot out the door, Carmen thought it couldn't hurt to finish the job for her. She watched them leave with a scowl. “ _Pillock,_ ” she spat.

Meanwhile, Shianni looked visibly shaken. “I’ve really messed things up this time, didn’t I?”

“It’ll be all right. He won’t tell anyone an elven woman took him down,” Soris finally spoke up. Though he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “Right?” 

“I hope so,” was all Shianni said, before leaving to clean herself up. 

* * *

Blood, sweat, and the innards of humans stained the once-white wedding dress, the skirt having taken a dip in crimson waters. The grip on the sword tightened, and she used it as an anchor to keep her mind steady. Bodies upon bodies decorated the floor of the noble’s estate, walls splattered with more blood and grime.

The overwhelming smell of copper brought back memories, and Carmen remembered her first kill. Nobody really forgets their first kill. 

Hers just had the misfortune of occurring when she was but fifteen winters old. It had been another day of her running an errand for a merchant. She knew better than to take the shortcut through the alleyways, but impatience and the lack of experience would be her downfall that day. Four humans who had looked like they stumbled out of the taverns cornered her at the ginnels. She remembered the ache in her ribs from their kicks, the biting laughter and cruel mockery. She also remembered the splatter of blood followed immediately by silence. For how could they have anticipated the dagger hidden in her sleeve? After all, good obediant elves weren’t supposed to carry such things.

The small blade had buried deep into one of their throats and the others had scattered like roaches. Adrenaline coursed through her veins that day as they did now, and the shaking, _always the damn shaking,_ never seemed to cease. 

Carmen snarled as she kicked the lifeless body of yet another guard to the floor, letting it join the rest. Ah, there was nothing more fulfilling than seeing the look on the first two guards’ faces, when Soris slid a sword to her between their legs. Had it not been for the dire situation, she would've belted out in laughter at their shocked expressions. They were always surprised. Things were just that much easier when they never came to expect an elven girl to proficiently wield a weapon. They would let their underestimation blind them, 'til that very elf stared them down with a sword through their chests.

The memory of her first kill replayed in her mind many times, and she couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel terrible about it then. At the time, she thought it would make her feel horrid. Revolted even, for she had just murdered a man. Not even a man, but a boy, probably just a couple years older than her. But she had felt...nothing. Perhaps she did feel guilty, for not feeling guilty enough. But you see, when it all came down to it, killing was easy, simple even. And that was the true horror of it. It was _simple_. It didn't tear your soul apart, like they'd tell you. It was ridiculously easy, and if you had to, you could probably do it again. 

It was _that_ fact that would keep you up for many nights to come. Not the killing itself. 

She didn’t remember how long she had gaped at the body, but the panic on his face still lingered long after his death. She had found nothing beyond that. There was a body there, that much was true. But there was _nothing there._ It went from dreams and aspirations, to an empty, hollow shell of a body. All their character and soul reduced to a clump of unmoving bones and flesh. The ability to do that so easily had once terrified her. 

But now, the only thing that terrified her was how eager she was to spill blood. 

Carmen turned to Soris. “When we come across Vaughan, leave him to me.” Not if, but when. “He's _mine._ ”

He nodded frantically. Even now, she could see the small layer of fear start to form in his eyes. It was a fear she disdainfully recognized all too often these days. A fear that manifested in someone when they no longer recognized who you were anymore.

Her grip on the sword tightened further until her palms were chafed. She and Soris quickly advanced through room after room, getting past the guards with surprising effectiveness. Stuffed animal heads watched with apathetic glee as the blood of their hunters painted the estate red. Carmen thought she heard the sound of quick footsteps coming from somewhere, but as she whipped her head around, she realized it was only just the sound of her own hammering heartbeat, threatening to burst out of her chest. 

_I'm losing it._

The screams and helpless cries of Shianni rang in her ears, and Carmen knew they would haunt her in her dreams for many years to come. Maker only knew where the other bridesmaids were taken. One minute, all was well and the wedding was to proceed as planned. The next, Vaughan had stormed back into the alienage with a small platoon of his guards, dragging them out of their homes in broad daylight. No doubt feeling he needed such an abundance of supporters to demonstrate his power, and to compensate for his lack of dignity after being knocked out by an elf. She would've found amusement in that, if it weren't so pitiful.

_‘Taming an animal is much more rewarding if it struggles and puts up a good fight first, don't you agree, boys?’_

The cackling fiends had dragged Shianni to one of the rooms in the estate, and Carmen silently cursed the thin walls. It wasn't long before Soris showed up with a sword too big for his hands, the blade sliding across the stone floor like a cobra. When her hands clasped around the handle, that was when Carmen decided — _never again._

The feeling of suffocation wasn't something she was a stranger to, and Carmen had been in the deep end of the water for far too long. But now, she _could_ do something. She wasn’t helpless anymore. She wasn't afraid to say the wrong thing, or do something she'd regret. Because they were way past the point of return. A voice was screaming inside her head, one that no longer told her to run. It was a scream not of pain for once, nor of fear, but of liberation. _No. I do exist,_ it said.

She ground her teeth in response to the hunger-laced hatred. “We need to get Shianni and the rest of the women out to safety before they send for reinforcements.”

“They'll come for us, you know,” Soris said nervously, eyeing the trail of bodies behind them.

Oh, Carmen knew her fate was sealed after this was all said and done. But she would always cherish this brief moment of deliverance. She was tired of running, tired of walking on eggshells, and they both knew she wasn’t the only one. So Carmen shrugged. Because at the end of the day…

“I'll always end up with blood on my dress anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only just recently returned to the fanfiction writing scene, so this was kind of productive. Feedback is encouraged!  
> ___  
> If you want to chat or have any inquiries, you can also send a message to my Tumblr [@Chaosroid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)
> 
> I also have a [Leliana Discord Server](https://discord.com/invite/EjFYyJmVkV). Join us in simping and crying over our love for Leliana.


	2. Like Dogs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw gets pretty bloody

“We have to go, now!” 

“I can’t leave him here,” she muttered. Carmen’s hands shook as they frantically applied pressure to the wound of a dead man. He wasn’t moving, not even a word was mustered from his lips before he was cut down. She held his hand and attempted to pointlessly pull him up. A futile action, all the same, she knew.

“Listen to me.” Soris kneeled down and grabbed her by her shoulders. “He’s gone. He’s gone, and if we don’t move right now, his death will be in vain. Is that what you want?”

She nodded slowly in understanding, then quickly shook her head at his question. She panted, hands covered in so many layers of blood, she had lost count who belonged to whose anymore. 

“So _focus._ On your feet, cousin!” 

Carmen knew what Soris was doing, and she’d always be grateful for him having stepped up at a time like this. She couldn’t stop now. No, she had to carry on, now more than ever. So instead, she took his ring with her. The wedding band that was going to be given to _her_. The silver metal of it was cool against her skin, burning into her palm like a taunt of what could’ve been. Her hands ran gently across his face, smoothing out the faint lines of pain that must’ve been left during his final breaths. _Why did you have to come, Nelaros?_ Carmen would never know the answer to that, and it tore at her very being.

They continued through the halls of the estate, abandoning all attempts at subterfuge due to their current state of appearances. Not that they ever really made an attempt at it in the first place. 

Her eyes hardened with fury. “That Warden earlier, why didn’t he do anything?”

“Who, Duncan? I don’t know. Said something about Wardens being neutral.”

Carmen grunted in frustration. “Bollocks.”

Of all the tales of the Grey Wardens she grew up on, she never believed she would ever meet one in person. Warden Duncan had come to the alienage shortly after their first encounter with Vaughan. A tall, bearded man, armed to the teeth and decked out in an engraved armour of the finest material she had ever seen in a long time. But the appearance of a Grey Warden was not something one would usually want. Their presence either meant there were darkspawn, or worse, and the latter proved to be true; there was a Blight. Saying nothing else but the fact that he was looking for someone, Carmen had left him alone, pondering about what a Blight on this land would mean. But the Wardens, they were heroes, weren’t they? And yet, Duncan had stood by as Vaughan and his men came back. She didn’t understand. So much had happened in the span of a few hours, it was almost too much to take in. 

Her thoughts were cut off by Soris’ touch on her arm however. He stood gazing towards a door, one where light could be seen from the other side that peeked through the crack at the bottom. 

“Careful now, I think they’re in this room,” he said, “let’s be smart about this.”

Carmen scowled. “Nothing about this whole thing has ever been ‘smart',” she grumbled. 

“True.”

Feeling no more time should be wasted, Carmen kicked the door open. No guards were in sight. All that were left was Vaughan and the two men who accompanied him, with Shianni behind them. Her clothes were ripped and torn, hair tousled, and several bruises could be seen on her face. All that blood and gore, and the only thing that made Carmen want to puke was the sight of her cousin on the floor, broken and scared. _Shianni..._

Vaughan faced her and Soris. “I must admit, this is a surprise.”

“No need to worry, we’ll make short work of these two!” said one of the men.

“Don’t be _stupid_ ,” Vaughan hissed. “There were screams down the hall, and they’re covered in enough blood to fill a tub. Put two and two together.”

The noble turned back to Carmen. “Now now, let’s be civilized. I’m sure we can talk this over.” 

_Civilized? Talk now?_ Carmen never thought she could feel so appalled, enraged, and amused all at the same time, but this cretin certainly managed to do it for her. He didn’t seem to catch on to her swirl of emotions however, and took her silence as a sign to continue. 

“Use your head for a minute. Kill me, and you will ruin more lives than just your own, and you know it.”

Shianni spoke through tears. “Please...just get me out of here. I want to go home!”

Vaughan ignored her. “When my father hears about my death, he won’t let it go. Strike me down, and Denerim will run red with elven blood. _Or,_ you can choose to walk away and keep your mouth shut about this. Not to mention, a couple sovereigns richer than you were before you came through that door to boot.”

Carmen blinked _. Was he seriously trying to buy me out of this?_

“The women will stay of course,” he went on, “but don’t worry, I’ll return them tomorrow, enough for them to be just in time for the honeymoon. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

Carmen let the words process. This man, who had harassed and abducted the women with her, beaten and assaulted her cousin, and had his men kill her betrothed, was now trying to bribe his way out of the situation. Soris looked to her nervously, unsure of what to do. Shianni started to cry, helpless and defeated. Meanwhile, Vaughan waited for her response, appearing smug and confident.

She laughed. 

It was quiet at first, something small, bubbling up from the pit of her stomach to the back of her throat. Then it came out in waves, and she couldn’t stop it. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, she wanted to sob, but all that came out was a stream of maniacal laughter. It was a rude sound, cutting through the damp air like knives. She was fully aware of the uncomfortable stares from Vaughan, his men, Soris, as well as Shianni. Their expressions ranged from dumbfounded to unnerved at the sight of what must be an elf in a blood-soaked wedding dress, cackling like a mad woman. The image in her head made her laugh even harder. 

Desperately struggling to regain some semblance of composure, Carmen wiped a few stray tears from her face, which really only served to smear blood near her eyes. She swallowed, then gave Vaughan a wicked grin.

“ _Fuck you._ ” 

Vaughan scoffed, looking irritated. “You think this is a joke? Do you truly think you can get away with my murder, and just waltz back to your pathetic little family of sheep? Have you any idea who I am? Kill me and they will skin you all alive.”

“Oh, Vaughan…” Carmen continued to smile, as her eyes darkened. “You think your blood makes you special?” she spoke with a dangerously calm voice. “If I slit your throat, your blood would spill to the ground, and disappear through the cracks. When your father returns, mourning the loss of his guards by the foyer, I’ll keep him in black, on _your_ behalf.” 

“I’ll gut you like a pig!” he roared. 

What proceeded was a very rough and sloppy clashing of steel against steel. Vaughan's sword came swinging towards her head, and the others converged with the intent to overwhelm her, perhaps even knock her to the ground before she could move to defend herself. Carmen could see it written into his face; he thought he’d won already. But her blade slid against his at an angle with a shrill _shring,_ and with one quick motion, she closed in with a grab to his wrist, constricting it until he dropped his weapon.

Carmen jabbed her sword at Vaughan, leaving a cut on his cheek that made him grunt in pain. His eyes lit up with murder. Despite having better numbers, the only thing that kept the other two men from getting the upper hand was Soris providing her cover from a distance. One of his bolts landed a hit on one of the men, and Carmen took the opportunity to quickly behead him. The previous encounters left her tired, and all her years of training was abandoned for bold recklessness. It was something she'd quickly regret, however. The action made her back turn from Vaughan, and he tackled her to the ground, while the other goon made his way to Soris.

Vaughan knocked the sword out of her hand and put his full weight on top of her body, pinning her down beneath him with a choke hold. 

He smiled devilishly. “Not too late to beg, wench.” 

In response, Carmen spat blood on his face, and managed to weakly muster a few words. “Drop dead...arsehole.”

That only served to infuriate the man more. “Charming to the last,” he said, seething.

Using both hands now, Vaughan's grip tightened, and the burning sensation in her throat made her claw at his face, desperate for air. Unfazed by her futile attempts, she went for the next best thing — his eyes. The gouge made Vaughan screamed in pain, and he immediately released his hold, with his hands instinctively reaching for his eyes. Punching him hard enough so that he fell on his back, Carmen grabbed the sword dropped beside her, and leapt on top of him. What followed were a series of violent slashes.

She ruthlessly swung the blade like an axe, and one final scream escaped the arl's son, before she hacked away at his face, cutting it apart with brutal savagery. His blood sprayed onto her in a splash, and what remained of what you would call a man's face was unrecognizable. But even as Vaughan lay motionless, disfigured upon the ground, she did not stop. 

“Carmen...”

She howled with rage and continued the vicious process of giving Vaughan a very personal facial makeover. The sound of a heavy blade erratically chopping into wet, mutiliated flesh filled the room.

“Carmen!” 

She could barely hear the voice pleading behind her. All she relished was the warm sensation of human blood covering her face. Her once white hair that was wrapped in a bun had loosened into a braid that fell upon her shoulders, with messy strands having fallen over her face. The need to kill another human noble, the burning desire to crack open their skulls and simply maim; at this point, it had all become an itch. But now that she had scratched it, all that was left was a rash and a few scars to remember. People had always told her that hate was hot like fire. What nonsense. Hate made her cold. 

“ _Carmentine!”_

She was finally shaken out of her sadistic reverie at the yell from Soris. She turned and saw that the other goon laid dead a few metres away across the room, chest littered with bolts, and she rapidly blinked at her cousin.

“He's dead. Okay? It's done,” he panted. 

Carmen let the sword drop from her hands, the metal hitting the floor with a _clang._ The sharp sound echoed in her ears like it came from another room. Everything just seemed so far away. She could barely even remember how she ended up taking the advantage over the now dead man beneath her. Her body trembled, and she stared at her cousin confusedly.

“I…” Words refused to come out, and the urge to lie on the floor and curl up made her dissociate.

Soris caught her and gently pulled her into a hug. Finally, tears streamed down her cheeks, her body shook, and she began to silently sob into his shoulder.

“It's okay. It's alright, Carmen. It's over! It's over,” he muttered the words repeatedly, smoothing her back with strokes. “It's over…”

Her throat burned and her lips were cracked. A faint chuckle escaped her. “No, Soris. It's not over,” she said through sniffles. “It will never be over.” And that was why she weeped.

Shianni was tended to and given a blanket for decency's sake. Her face was pale, and stained with tear streaks as well. She looked up to Carmen and watched her for a moment. As if she was now staring at a complete stranger. Maybe she was. Then Shianni spoke in a low and hesitant voice.

“You killed them, didn't you? You...killed them all?”

Carmen looked into her eyes and tried to find something within herself, _anything_ at all, that could be considered gentle. But heartbreakingly enough, she found nothing. So the words that came out were something torn between a growl, and a cry for help.

“ _Like_ **_dogs_** _, Shianni._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading so far.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	3. Conscripted

The crust of the dried blood melted under the flow of the water, and Vaughan’s words soon proved to be true. She truly did have enough blood to fill a tub. 

Carmen shivered. She wrapped her arms around her legs, curling into herself, and waited for the water to melt the hardened blood off her skin. The water was always cold and there was only ever enough to reach her knees. Not like the ones the nobles had, with buckets of hot water at the ready. She could always heat it herself, but firewood could be put to better use. Carmen actually preferred the cold anyway. She had tried a warm bath a few times, and though it wasn't unpleasant per say, she discovered that the warmth made her far too sleepy for her liking. It left her muscles and mind relaxed. Ironically, Carmen found that she didn’t like the sensation at all, like it was wrong to relax when one was in such a vulnerable state. Perhaps a lifetime of washing in cold water made her unused to it, and perhaps it would always be so.

After the fight, her throat was left with a bruise and she had sported two new scars. A wide gash on her right arm, and one near her hip. A parting gift from the bastard. The sensitive skin there burned a bit, but already became numb after a few minutes in the ice-cold bath. It was not the only scar she had, and it certainly won't be the last. The largest one, or more specifically, the largest two, were the ones on her back. A spaced out pair of long, vertical, parallel scars. Scars that didn’t look like scars, but simple runes that had been deliberately carved inches deep into her skin. Brutal and jagged. Four years have had them fade slightly, and there was a time when Carmen was proud of them. A ‘coming of age’ trial they had said. It was a joining brand from the merc band she used to be a part of. But now, she was thankful she could only see them if there was a mirror. 

She hugged herself tighter at the memory of the events of what transpired today. They had all been killed. Well, ‘killed’ would be the understatement of the age. They had been massacred. After the city guards traced the murders back to the alienage, they had demanded for her arrest. That was until Duncan intervened and invoked the Grey Warden’s rite of conscription, thus releasing her from their custody...only to be forced right back into another one. His for that matter.

Released from a cage, only to be put into another one that was adorned with fancy griffon engravings. Carmen chuckled to herself. _Maker, do you find this all amusing?_ It was all the same. Yet another shem that would be dragging her out of her home. She supposed it could be worse, but boy, was the bar set a little too low these days. 

But Carmen had no time to wonder about what a god found as entertainment, for Duncan had explained that they were to leave for Ostagar as soon as possible. So she hastily got out of the tub and dried herself. The torn and stained wedding dress had been long discarded. Much like what the life she had would soon be. But she would keep one thing, she decided. Nelaros’ ring. However, Carmen couldn't bring herself to wear it on her finger, for they were never wed. Maybe she was never cut out for that sort of thing. But she would always mourn for what could’ve been, the simple life she could’ve had. Carmen never loved the man. He was but a stranger, after all, and that was what pained her the most. _How many more strangers will die for you?_

She grimaced at the thought. No, to wear it on her finger was to declare herself a widow, and Carmen feared the ring's metal would sear a mark into her flesh. Nor did she have the heart to abandon it. So she made a necklace out of the stolen promise that would never be, and carried the memory of her deceased betrothed wrapped around her neck like a noose, loose enough to breathe, but just tight enough to remember. It was a small reminder of yet another one of her failures. 

Carmen threw on her surcoat and a spare pair of trousers. Then she headed to the back of her room where she kept her things. Essentials, of course, like food, water, a compass, and some coin. Then a cabinet that held of the polearm she hadn't touched in months. Not since _that day._ Carmen fastened a leather belt with a scabbard for the short sword, and then a baldric strung around her torso to carry her spear. It was only an inch taller than her. Granted, she was taller than most of her people. 

It had been too long since she had felt the weight of her spear, still as sharp as it was the last time she held it. Ever since Raelnor died (bless that sorry sod) and his son took over the Irregulars, Carmen had left the band of mercenaries and never felt the need to use such weaponary again so often. Not even her sword had seen much battle, and she made note to find a whetstone at the sight of its dull state. A dirk was all she needed most days, as it drew less attention. She also opted to pack a few essentials. Food, water, a compass, and some coin.

Footsteps came from behind and she turned expecting Sorris. But it was her father. “I...I am sorry for what’s happened today.” 

Carmen was surprised to see that his eyes were wet. Her father hadn’t shed any tears in a long time. At least, not since the day her mother died. The sight worried her more than it should've.

“I want you to know that none of what you did was your fault. They...they would’ve come for us, even if you didn’t kill him.”

She nodded grimly. “I know. And I would’ve killed him even if they didn’t.”

Her father nodded as well. “I know. None of us blame you for it.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to coddle me anymore. I know what I risked. I have regrets, but none of them involve my choice to kill him. I’m just sorry that it had to come to this. That I couldn’t have done more.” 

“So am I.” He sighed somberly. They both knew it would've happened at some point, sooner or later. The constant harassments the alienage faced had reached a boiling point, and the wedding's violent disruption was the last straw. It was incredible how a fine day could be so easily ruined and thrown into chaos the next instant. As if each happy moment hung on a thread with the fragility of a spider's web.

“Before you leave, I want you to have something.”

Carmen cocked an eyebrow, and couldn't help the curiosity in her rising as her father went to open a chest by the foot of his bed. He pulled out something wrapped in a blanket and unveiled it before her.

Her eyes grew wide at the sight of it. It was a shield. But not just any shield. 

“It was your mother’s. I know I was against the path you walked, but I feel like you’ll need this now more than ever. She…” Father had a wistful look that almost made her wish she could take him back to the days when things were simpler. “She would’ve wanted you to have this,” he said softly. 

Carmen stared at the shield in disbelief. It was large and round, made of bronze metal that gave it a low sheen. There were no fancy emblems she recognized that indicated it was forged under a certain banner, but at its centre, there was an engraving of what appeared to be a wolf’s head, gazing back at her. It was not the gaze of a hungry beast, but a stoic pack leader. 

She found herself almost a loss for words. “I am unworthy,” she breathed. 

“Nonsense. You are a _Tabris._ More than that, you are my daughter.” Cyrion gently squeezed her shoulder. “You deserve to carry it more than anyone.”

“I... _thank you_ ,” she said, humbled. She slowly took it from his hands, admiring its masterwork. It was heavy, but sturdy. Carmen felt oddly complete after strapping it to her left arm. Like a part of her had been restored in some way. It was the last remnant of her mother's she knew of that she would be lucky enough to have. Her old clothes had long ago been sold because they were low on coin last year, and whatever else she had were either stolen by humans or lost. “I will carry it with pride.” 

Cyrion shook his head. “Carry it with honour. Carry it to protect, like she did.” He hugged her. Not crushing, but hard enough to tell her that it might be their last. “I'm going to miss you, girl. We will all miss you. You best visit Shianni before you leave. She's been crying out for you ever since you both got back.”

“I will,” she smiled. “This isn't goodbye. I promise, I'll come back.”

He gave her a forlorn smile and nodded, before taking his leave.

Carmen found Shianni resting in bed. They had patched up her wounds, but there was only so much they could do. Yet another day she was bitter the Chantry denied elves the healing touch of a mage. Shianni was far from anything that could be described as weak. The woman was fiery and wild. It was why they had gotten along so famously for so many years, after all. But even a phoenix had its limits, and its flames could be snuffed as easily as it burned. 

“Here,” she said. Shianni looked up at the tea set beside her through sleepy eyelids. “Mugwort,” Carmen explained.

Nodding in thanks, she drank. “You saved me, saved all of us. You and Soris both.” The guarded look in her eyes was still there, but it was replaced with weariness and something else she couldn't describe.

She held her cousin's hand, careful as to not hold too hard at the anger that threatened to surface again. Anger, that she had let them touch her. Anger, that she was so slow. Anger, that she hadn't drawn out Vaughan's death. Carmen had wanted to say goodbye to her cousin without her own emotions getting the better of her, but she despised having felt so helpless.

Shianni seemed to sense her turmoil, and looked at her seriously. “Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened. You did what you could.”

“I could've done more.”

“You did _what you could_ ,” she stressed, giving her hand a few, small shakes. “That's all that matters.”

Carmen's face scrunched up in fury. “No, it's not all that matters! Where's your self-respect? Where's your _rage?”_ she snapped, before deflating tiredly. She leaned her head back against the wall with a soft 'thump'. “How many times are we gonna do this? I'm _sick_ of it. I know you are too.” Shianni, of all people, had always understood. But the marks of helplessness was carved into their flesh the moment they were born. Only one of them was intent on covering those marks up. 

She would never admit it, but Carmen was a dreamer. She dreamt of a world where her people were free, and the only thing they had to worry about was what clothes looked nice enough to put on in the morning. Or of the day when her bruised knuckles could finally heal, and when everything in her food didn’t taste like magenta dipped in candle wax. She dreamt of the Dalish, whose words, like fists, would fracture jaws.

“You know as well as I do that we can't have peace without a war. There’s something looming over the horizon, Shianni. I can feel it in my bones,” she spoke in a low voice, “and if we don't fight back soon, we'll be gone before dawn will come."

“Maybe,” Shianni laid her head back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling dolefully. “But what will you do when they come for you?” She turned to her with a far away expression. “What will you _become?”_

Carmen didn’t know the answer to that. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to find out, but there was a feeling that the revelation would be inevitable. She didn’t want to let go, but it was time to leave, and she couldn’t make time any longer than it was. 

She shook her head as she got up, “I’d ask you to stay out of trouble, but that’s like asking you not to breathe.” 

Shianni gave her a wry smile, “And I’d ask you to stay safe, but knowing your luck…”

The two laughed, and Carmen gave her hand one final squeeze before going outside to meet with Duncan. 

She had given back the sword he had lent her during the escape, and it returned to one of the empty scabbards on his back. He looked quite the intimidating fellow indeed, and she wondered how many darkspawn he had slain in his life. She then wondered how many _she_ would have to slay.

“You’re certain you’re ready to leave?” he asked.

“No.”

He nodded in understanding, and the two passed through the gate. Carmen looked back over her shoulder at the only home she ever knew, one last time, before she anxiously followed him out of Denerim, forever leaving behind the life she once had for good.

She struggled to keep up with his pace a few times, though he made no comment. Did all Grey Wardens walk at pace that was somewhere between a stroll and a run? Duncan explained that they would head south, and join with the rest of the Grey Wardens in league with the king’s forces. Carmen knew nothing about King Maric’s son, but after learning that Teryn Mac Tir would be participating in the fight against the darkspawn, she couldn’t help but grow giddy at the revelation. She might even be able to see him on the battlefield if she was lucky. That was _something_ to look forward to out of this mess, wasn’t it? 

“You showed great skill today. I’m pleased that you were able to get the others to safety,” said Duncan.

She suppressed the urge to scoff. “No thanks to you,” she remarked. 

“And that you took full responsibility for what transpired, thus saving your friend,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm.

“For now,” she said darkly. “You gettin' me out of troube like that probably did more harm than good. If today was any telling, it’s that they're going to find _someone_ to punish, and if it ain't me...” She sighed wearily, “I fear my people will continue to suffer regardless.” They continued to trek down the path towards Ostagar.

Duncan nodded. “That is unfortunately true. But what you did was still a commendable sacrifice. It was why I believed you would make a fine Grey Warden in the first place,” he smiled. 

“Even me being an elf?” she asked skeptically. 

“The Grey Wardens care not of your origins. In fact, the one who ended the fourth blight was an elf. His name was Gaharel.”

Carmen blinked. She had heard of Gaharel, but none of the stories mentioned him as an elf. How many human heroes from tales did she admire as a child, only to be surprised that they were elves all along? She wondered if the bards that told of his heroic deeds truly and faithfully, were silenced by the Chantry, their tongues cut out no doubt. Because we couldn't have children looking up to heroes with pointed ears now, could we? 

“Tell me, what do you know of the order?” he asked. The sun sat tiredly on the horizon, disappearing into the earth.

“Beyond the fact that you lot are sworn to fight darkspawn, gloriously riding on the backs of griffons? Nothing.”

He chuckled. “As much as I would’ve loved to ride one into battle, sadly, the magnificent beasts are extinct.” 

“Pity.”

“Indeed,” he said, “but the secrets we keep, we keep for good reason. You must understand that the burden the Grey Wardens carry demands great responsibility, and we must honour our oaths.”

“Honour? Responsibility? You preach of honour and responsibility, but tell me, do all Grey Wardens stand by in the face of injustice?” she quipped.

Duncan looked at her curiously. She knew he understood what she was talking about. They both knew what had happened. How many men and women did Duncan ‘recruit’, that were really, forced against their will? How many were dragged into the order, kicking and screaming as they did? Surely, there were many who willingly joined the Wardens. But Carmen knew without a doubt that the rite of conscription wouldn’t have existed in the first place if people didn’t resist. 

She refused to let the man down. “Where were you when we were kidnapped by those men? Where were you when the others were taken, used and assaulted by those whoresons?” She looked him in the eye with a burning fury. “You were there. You watched them take us like cattle, and you did _nothing_. I thought Grey Wardens were supposed to protect people.” Her eyes furrowed in a mix of frustration and confusion.

Duncan replied calmly, “I gave you the tools to protect yourself because I knew you could, and you did.”

His response was nothing short of slap to the face. “Was that all it was to you? A test? What, couldn't be bothered to lift a finger when the situation didn't involve darkspawn? Did I need to drown myself in their blood to prove to you I was worthy? Oh, you must be so _proud,_ ” she shot back bitterly.

“You did what you had to, and it was regretful that things escalated the way it did.”

Carmen flashed him an angry glare. “Do you take me for a fool?”

“I take you for a remarkable warrior,” he countered. “But I could not rescue you. I cannot charge into every place where innocents are suffering at the hands of bad men. Because if a Warden spent every moment being a hero to every unfortunate soul they came across, the blight would swallow the world before it had anyone to stop it.”

“No,” she replied exasperatedly, raking a hand through her hair. “That's not what I'm asking. Rescuin' us isn't your job, and I _get_ that. But you couldn’t have prevented them from taking us in the first place? How much time would that have taken out of your day?” 

Deep down, Carmen wished he had a good reason for what he did. A reason that didn’t involve a man’s own agendas. But knowing her, and knowing shems, she couldn’t have expected anything less. But knowing didn't lessen how much it still hurt.

“You’re a Grey Warden. Was it so unreasonable to wish you could’ve used your power and influence to stop them? I don’t know what it is with you people. You're a fully armed Warden, and you didn't even _try_. And now you take me away from my home so that you can make me one of your own.” Carmen wanted to spit at his feet. “Look, I don’t know what I did to tilt you off in some way, maybe it was something I said earlier that day, who knows. And I know you shem couldn’t give half a thought about some elves, but for Maker's sake, how about a little empathy for once, hmm? How about a little common bloody decency, _Duncan?”_ her voice cracked.

“I understand that you are upset after experiencing something so traumatic and-”

“You understand nothing. Didn’t even have the courtesy to let me hang.” Carmen knew full well how juvenile she sounded, like the smell of peeled oranges. She was honestly surprised he hadn’t slapped her square in the face yet. But her chances of survival as a Warden was slim, and she’d probably soon end up dead in a ditch to really care for the man’s opinion of her anyway.

“And what would that have solved?” he asked patiently.

“It would’ve been merciful.” She supposed she didn't deserve such a thing, after showing none to those guards. 

He didn't say anything, and looked at her with sad eyes. She recognized that look. It was one of pity, and she despised it. More so than the usual looks of disdain. Those she could deal with. _Those_ she expected. But what was she supposed to do with this? Carmen hated how shameful he looked. Even more, she hated how he looked at her as if she was already a dead woman. She wanted him to respond with equal fire. She wanted him to bite back, and if she was lucky, perhaps put her out of her misery even. But he knew what she was trying to do, and he refused to. 

Suddenly, the dawning realization hit her, and her chest felt hollow. “I knew what you were doing. You let all that happen because you knew I would kill my way out of there. That's why you had Soris give me your sword, no? How awfully convenient of you to have been right there to invoke the Rite of Conscription, just when I needed it. Your timing was _impeccable_.”

Duncan looked down with a resigned look. But there was something else there, as well.

“Come now,” Carmen said with a smirk. “Let's not beat around the bush. You were there for one thing, and one thing only; a recruit and nothing more. You got what you came for, Duncan. But you will not get anything more than that.”

“I know,” he sighed. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

As was everyone these days. She was tired of hearing it, and the hollowed bones that came with those words. They meant nothing to her, not when the wounds of her people were still fresh. The two continued their walk in silence, cutting through the forest. The silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it was defeaning.

Not an hour passed before Duncan halted her with a fist up, motioning her to stay low and quiet. A hiss came from a few distances away from them, behind a thicket. Then a low gurgling, followed by a sound of dry retching. It only dawned on her now that there was an abnormal lack of wildlife. Not a single scuttle of an animal, or any chirpings of a bird. The forest was unusually quiet. Whatever beast roamed these woods made it clear it didn’t like to share. 

Duncan turned to Carmen and spoke in a low voice. “Prepare yourself, and whatever you do, don’t let it get into your eyes and mouth.”

She felt something twist inside her stomach at the notion, and pulled out her spear in hand, gripping it perhaps a little too hard.

A loud snarl that sounded closer than what they heard before came from the side. Two humanoid figures revealed themselves. There was a stench, one that filled her nose immediately and made her want to gag. The closest description she could come up with was that it smelled of death. Death and decay. Her eyes watered, but from where she was, she could make out a hideous looking mouth. Lined with jagged, sharp teeth and a yellow, bubbly foam that dripped out at the corners of the mouth. Its skin was pale with a sickly colour, black veins protruding at the neck. But as Carmen watched the sun finally set completely, his lost ability to see well became their next concern.

The third creature from afar unsheathed its sword, if one could really call it a proper sword. It was a jagged thing, a handle laced with spikes and a serrated blade. Carmen held her shield up at the ready. They all swarmed at once. 

Duncan was first to block the strike of the creature, then cutting into its torso several times with inhuman speed. The other charged at her, hitting her shield with the force of a ram, and she lost her balance with a fall. The strength of the attack surprised her, but she quickly held her shield up while the creature made several swipes at her. The scraping of a blade echoed throughout the forest like the howl of a wendigo.

Waiting for the creature to swing at her again, she blocked its predictable pattern and thrusted her spear upwards, impaling it in the sternum. But Carmen stared in petrified horror as the impalement did nothing to slow the thing down. It didn’t seem to give off any indication that it felt the pain. As if it couldn't be more terrifying, the creature then proceeded to drag itself through the spear in order to inch closer to her, all while it continued to swing its sword aimelessly. 

Before it reached her, Duncan swiftly decapitated it, ending its horrific snarls. 

Carmen pushed the beast off her, panting. He offered her his hand, and spoke as he pulled her up. “Always aim for the head. They do not feel pain otherwise.”

“Don’t tell me that’s...” she trailed off, still a little shaken.

“Yes. Darkspawn.”

“Ah, so _these_ are the wretched little buggers. And here I thought they’d be taller.” She forced a painful smile.

“That would be the ogres,” he provided. “But at any rate, we should burn the bodies. Once we distance ourselves from the area, we’ll make camp for the night.”

Carmen nodded wordlessly.

Though, she doubted she’d get any sleep tonight anyway, even when her bones ached and her eyes burned from exhaustion. She feared she would never get much sleep ever again after everything that has happened. Too much was on her mind, enough that it dizzied her. There would never be a dreamless night for her again. 

Tomorrow was another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this game not have spears as a weapon? It's one of the most advantageous weapons in medieval history, and when facing against an opponent that could easily infect you with its blood, it's just practical and common sense to simply stab 'em at a distance. And because spears are sexy.
> 
> Also, Carmen is being a salty lil shit (justified), but what happened is still fresh in her mind, so that's expected. There'll be more important characterizations next chapter.
> 
> Feedback/comments are always encouraged!  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	4. Honour Among Thieves

She had contemplated fleeing more times than she could count, but every plan in her head had been more outrageous than the last. 

Where would she even go, back home? Fat chance. She’d be lynched on sight. There was always the Dalish, but she had no clue as to how she’d go about finding a clan in the first place. Neither could she bring herself to leave her family behind. She had made a promise to her father after all.

Carmen also doubted she’d get very far if Duncan decided to hunt her down. Though, the temptation to run off anyway, just to see how far she could go, was a constant prickling at the back of her mind. Spite was the only thing that kept her going for so many years after all.

The two had set up a small camp near a crag that overlooked the path down to Ostagar. She could just barely make out the faint outline of the towers belonging to a fortress through the fog, stone fingers piercing the clouds to reach for the heavens. 

This was the longest in almost three years that Carmen had gone without being confined by walls of some sort. Whether it had been the walls of Denerim itself, or the ones around the alienage that towered so high, you couldn’t see the full sun until it was noon. But she and Shianni used to get up early at the crack of dawn and climb the Vhenadahl in a race. The branches reached high beyond the walls, and only there could they see the sun come up, feeling the breeze of an early morning kiss their skin like a brushstroke made from the finest horse hairs. 

Father would always scold them afterwards, of course. The sight of two fledglings at the top of a thirty-metre tree, legs dangling back and forth with no care in the world, probably gave the man a few early grey strands. 

“See anything interesting?” asked Duncan, and she understood the unspoken question. It was way past dusk. He had finished setting up a fire in their makeshift camp for the night and took to sharpening one of his swords. From the design of the hilt, she recognized it to be the same blade he temporarily lent her during her escape. 

Carmen shrugged. The dark never gave her much trouble. 

She liked watching in the dark, and everything that came with it. Things were less shy to show themselves when the sun’s blinding ego didn’t demand all attention. 

Her eyes closed to the sound of crickets filling the vastness that was the wilderness. Wind buffeted against her frame, lightly sweeping foliage past her feet as she soaked in the breathtaking range before her. It was peaceful compared to the constant rabble she was used to with city life. Perhaps too peaceful to be truly comfortable. After all, Carmen was all fire and brimstone. Not woodlands and bark that thrummed where the canary sang.

“Never been this far south before. All I ever knew was Denerim. Granted, Denerim was full of cut throats, thieves, and beggars that, at a price, could tell you secrets that’d make a whore in a brothel blush. But damn...” She breathed in the heavy smell of pine trees. “You can’t deny the view though.” 

Being out in the open had its downsides, however. The trees offered good cover, but they were random. Not like all the nooks and crannies of alleyways that she memorized by heart, and all the dozens of shortcuts she used hundreds of times. It was something Carmen took pride in; to know the ins and outs of a city like the back of her hand. 

She supposed roof jumping wasn’t much different than the Dalish and their tree running. That _was_ what they did, wasn’t it? Maybe all that climbing was an elf thing, who knows. But she missed it. Even though it had only been four days. Carmen missed the filthy city of dogs, and all their incessant barking. Because she was raised in the pen and that was all she ever knew. She bared her bloody knuckles to the faces of the hounds, because that was what they demanded. 

“Your mother taught you how to fight, didn't she?” asked Duncan. 

The question surprised her. “You knew my mother? What could _you_ know of her?” Her eyes narrowed, defensive over the well-being of a dead woman.

“I knew her many years ago. She was a strong-willed woman. In fact, it was her I was going to ask to join the Grey Wardens at the time. But there was no blight, thus no immediate demand for recruits,” he said, as he fiddled with the sticks and stones of the bonfire to keep it going. “She’s taught you well.” 

“Not well enough, it seems.”

Duncan disagreed, however. “Enough that you have survived this long.” He sighed when she saw her look away, fidgeting with the streams of her sleeves like she always did when she was annoyed or nervous. Or both. “Look, I know that it’s been a...rough couple of days. But no matter what, you just have to keep fighting. And if you have nothing to fight for, then you find that something and hang onto it.”

He stared off into the distance, and Carmen felt the all-encompassing weight on the man’s shoulders brush against hers for a fraction of a second, giving her a taste of his world. It was barely a touch, but she felt it, for the barest of moments. Did all Grey Wardens have the eyes of an old malcontent who got burned one too many times? 

Carmen shrugged. “Guess that’s all we can do these days.”

* * *

Ostagar was...big. 

Yes, truly the pinnacle of apt descriptiveness. Carmen weaved her words with the same grace as a Qunari trying to weave a child’s bracelet. _Now that'd be a sight_. 

To be fair, it _was_ big. The grey towers were even taller up close, worn out by years of defying against the weather and hundreds of past sieges. All around her, knights representing banners from all stretches of Ferelden gathered in preperation for a battle, and if it weren't for the Blight, Carmen would've believed they were all assembling to slay a god. There had to be an entire batallion of soldiers in the ward alone. Commanding officers huddled around small war tables, a couple dozen recruits at the practice dummies, and a company marching across the fortress. There was something else about the place though, something that felt old and moldy. Carmen wrinkled her nose.

The king was nice enough, at least, if a tad bit odd. His enthusiasm for the upcoming battle matched the unwavering energy of a golden retriever, and it was safe to say that the lad was quite the meathead. But then again, he ploughin’ wore golden armour. Golden. ‘Course he was a meathead. 

No surprise he was so oblivious about the state of the alienage, but Maker's breath, was it all worth it just to see Duncan's eyes roll so far back as she blurted out what had happened that day. In short, Carmen had the subtlety of a blunt axe. That's all one needed to know.

As King Cailain marched away with his guards, Duncan and she talked as they strolled through the courtyard, the shadows of the great pillars and beams encompassing them. “I know there is an archdemon behind this.” His expression was wary. “I fear our king is ill-prepared for what’s to truly come.”

“He’s a bright fellow though, I’ll give him that. His giddy overconfidence is no doubt great for morale,” Carmen remarked.

“Perhaps. Here's hoping my suspicions will be proven false. The king will tell me I was just paranoid and we'll all laugh about it after the battle. But regardless, we should proceed with the Joining as soon as possible.”

They stopped at the bridge, and Duncan went on to explain the process. “Every recruit goes through it to become a Grey Warden. I can’t say more than that it’s very dangerous, but I promise, you will know everything all in good time.”

So the Wardens had a secret handshake after all. How very ominous. What this Joining entailed though, Carmen had no idea. Trial by combat? Steal an infant darkspawn and get away with it without its mother finding out? _How were darkspawn made anyway?_ she thought. No, actually, let’s not go there. Indeed, she was far too sober at the moment for such thoughts.

“There is another Grey Warden in the camp by the name of Alistair. Seek him out, then you and the other recruits may begin. I suggest you outfit yourself with our armour as well. The quartermaster is by the main encampment,” Duncan said, as he pointed across the bridge.

Getting around Ostagar was another matter entirely. It was almost as lively as a city, with all the soldiers marching about, the squeaks of their armours filling the battlements. Elven servants scampered about running errands, and the mages were here as well. One of them had even chatted up with her, and because Carmen was always someone who easily got carried away, she had spent the next ten minutes discussing the fade with her. 

Anyway, back on track. An hour had passed before she finally found the quartermaster. Or more accurately, the quartermaster found _her._

A hand grabbed her wrist from behind. “There you are, elf! Where have you been and where is my armour?” the man scolded, before eyeing her up and down in confusion.

“You better unhand me,” she said, while biting down on her teeth.

“I better teach a disobedient servant a lesson. And why are you dressed so preposterously?” he chided. 

Carmen twisted out of his grip, and grabbed him by his collar in a furious hold, growling as she did. She pulled him closer until their faces were inches apart. “Do I _look like-_ ” She stopped the process of wringing the man’s neck when she saw the odd looks from several workers nearby. Begrudgingly, she let him go, but not without sending him a glare. 

His eyes widened. “Oh! You’re not-oh, you must be that new recruit Duncan was talking about!” He stuttered as Carmen continued to stare at him with a deadpan expression. “Please, forgive my rudeness. There are so many elves running about, everything’s just been so hectic and...I didn’t realize.”

Carmen sighed. “I just want some armour, and I’ll be outta your way, yeah?”

The quartermaster gawked for a second, before rushing to his stall. “Yeah! Yeah, of course. One Grey Warden armour, comin’ right up,” he said with a nervous jitter. 

A blue, studded gambeson went on first, with chainmail right down the bottom half of her torso. Then the silver cuirass and faulds. Were it not for the leather boots and gauntlets, she would’ve looked like the navy sky littered with dozens of stars.

She shivered. Her chainmail was practically frozen and despite the wool shirt underneath, the metal was like ice on her abdomen. It burned a bit, like a branding iron pressed against her skin. But it looked like it’d offer decent protection, and that was good enough for her. 

Now, where was this Alistair? Carmen sighed. She suspected that if finding him was as hard as finding the quartermaster, she would be here all day. But as she walked around the battlements, she heard a familiar voice from quite a distance from where she stood.

“So! Any last wishes I can help fulfill before you head into battle? Life is fleeting you know. That pretty face could be decorating some darkspawn spear this time tomorrow.”

It was a devilish voice, and the last place she expected to hear it was here. Carmen turned to see a Warden with a redheaded soldier. The soldier only folded her arms in response. 

“Shall I take that quiet glare as a no?” he asked meekly. “Aw well, that’s too bad.” 

_What the...Daveth?_ Carmen strolled up to him with disbelief. 

When he saw her, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. 

“Tabby?! What the blazes are you doing here?” he cried.

Carmen scoffed. “Could ask you the same thing, mate.” She turned to the soldier, who had been staring at the exchange with a mix of confusion. “I’m sorry ser, is this bellend bothering you?”

Daveth pretended to look offended, as he put one hand on his chest. “ _Bellend?_ Bothering this fine lass? I’m hurt.” The two women merely rolled their eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten you stealing my share of the bargain all those months ago, dove.”

She smirked. “Is it stealing if you steal from a thief?”

He hesitated, but amusingly enough, chose to ignore her comment. “ _I_ was just chatting it up with Aveline here that we could be doing something fun before we lose the chance to.” He elbowed her with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I’m a married woman,” Aveline said flatly. 

“Not for long!” said Daveth with a sing-song voice. 

Carmen groaned with a shake of her head. “You haven’t changed _a bit_.”

“Mom always said I was different.”

She suppressed the urge to groan out loud again. Meanwhile, Aveline took this distraction as her chance to escape before Daveth could talk her ear off. Smart woman. 

“So,” Carmen gave his arm a light punch, “you gonna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” She pointed to his Warden armour that was near identical to hers.

“Got me hands almost cut again. In Duncan’s purse. But just as the guards were coming to get me hanged, the bloke saved my arse by conscripting me.” 

How awfully familiar. Did this Duncan like recruiting every criminal who's about to hang? First a mass-murderer, now a thief. If that was the order’s prerequisites for joining, then Maker help the Grey Wardens. 

“I leave you for three months, and you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, could you?” All Daveth did was flash her the biggest shit-eating grin. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Oi, says you! Aren’t you that new Warden recruit we were expecting? Good ‘ol Tabris, taking it up with the Greys. When did _you_ become the good guy?” he nudged.

Carmen scowled. “Don’t insult me…”

Daveth chortled. “What’d you do this time? Kick some child’s puppy, and now Duncan’s got you on parole? Don't tell me you actually _volunteered_ to join.”

She didn’t answer. Only a sigh escaped, as she looked down. 

“That bad, eh? You have my deepest condolences,” he said, half sarcastically.

“I fucked up royally, is what I did. But I don’t regret it, and that’s all I’m going to say. Don’t even know why or how I even made it out alive,” she said with a shake of her head.

It had only been a week since the incident at the arl of Denerim’s estate. She couldn’t believe how long ago it was already. At the time, she didn’t even believe she and Soris were going to make it out of the building with all the women. Which was half true. One of them was already cut down by the guards before the whole charade had even begun. But she did know that she was going to take down as many guards as she possibly could. That was one thing Carmen was good at. Even if she was about to draw her last breath, she would give someone one final swing of her sword lodged through their neck. 

Daveth put an arm on her shoulder. “Hey, the way I see it, if you get a second chance, don’t look up and ask why. Run for your bloody life, dove.” 

She gave him a wan smile. “Yeah, well, I’m out of luck when it comes to running. I’m a Warden now. Speaking of which, have you seen an Alistair around here?”

“Sure, last I saw him, he was taking the piss out of some mage. They’re by the east wing.” He pointed.

Nodding her thanks, Carmen continued her search. The sun had already begun to set, openly mocking her for side tracking so profusely. Indeed, she had found the Warden talking to a circle mage. Though, from where she was, it sounded more like a one-sided argument. The mage had looked like he was on the verge of throwing hands at the other man. But just as she entered the enclosure, he turned and marched out, giving her a glare on the way out. 

“You know,” the man left standing sighed with a smile, “one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”

His glib nonchalance surprised her, to be honest. Carmen had started to think she had found the wrong guy, because if _this_ was the Alistair, then he was definitely not what she expected. First mistake was having preconcieved notions, wasn't it? But she swore that if this shem started blurting out fluent elven, then she was going to lose it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't get a lot from the game when it comes to Daveth. But if both he and Tabris were from Denerim, then I don't believe for a second that they haven't met. Especially when my Tabris had been a mercenary operating in Denerim for a couple years now, the two would be partners in crime. It's a shame he was never a companion. He would've gotten along famously with Zevran.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	5. Bloodborne

It had taken the group several days before they gathered the darkspawn blood needed for the Joining. But the last encounter nearly cost them their lives. The difficult terrain that the Korcari Wilds lent itself made it even more troublesome to fight in. Carmen would’ve taken sprinting up a sandhill donned in heavy plate than to trudge through swamps that were thigh deep, infested with leeches, all the while having darkspawn archers up in the trees raining arrows. _Damned beasts are getting clever._

The sound of a branch moving caught her ears, and she turned to see a raven, perched atop it, and watching her. She tilted her head, and what unnerved her the most was how it mirrored her own action, its golden eyes transfixed on her.

A shout broke her out of her reverie. “Hey, careful you don’t fall behind!” called Alistair.

When she turned back, the raven was gone, and she quickly sauntered back up to the rest of the group. 

Almost a week into the Wilds, and Carmen found herself feeling she should be sleeping with one eye open. Not necessarily because of her current company. Ser Jory was all but a stranger to her, but Daveth and Alistair seemed like decent enough folk. No, Carmen was more concerned with whatever lay deep within the forest. Since when did she reach the point where sharing a camp with three human men made her feel safer than being alone? The taint that the darkspawn brought to these woods gave the air a cursed ambience. One that chilled her to the bones.

Hours later, they found themselves in a ruin, and the Warden treaties missing.

“Well, well, what have we here?” A low chuckle could be heard, and therefrom beyond the steps descended a pale woman, with hair as black as a raven’s. 

She slowly prowled towards them, like a predator eyeing its prey, moments before making a leap. “Are you vultures, I wonder? Scavengers come to pick at a corpse whose bones were long picked clean?” Her voice was sultry, but laced with something dangerous. So alluring as it was like the nectar from a Venus. “I’ve watched you for some time now,” the woman went on, “and now you disturb ashes that have not been touched for so long. Why is that?” 

“Don’t answer her,” Alistair whispered to her, “she looks Chasind, and that means others may be nearby.”

The woman smirked and waved her hands in the air with mockery and amusement. “Ooo, you fear barbarians will swoop down upon you?”

“Yes,” he drawled, narrowing his eyes. “Swooping is _bad._ ” 

“She’s a Witch of the Wilds, she is! She’ll turn us into toads!” Daveth exclaimed.

“‘Witch of the Wilds’…such idle fancies, those legends. Have you no minds of your own?” she tsked. “You there,” the witch faced Carmen. “Women do not frighten as easily as little boys. Tell me your name and I will tell you mine. We can be civilized.”

Carmen never thought she’d be greeting a lady in the bogs who wore one of the most revealing of robes she had ever laid eyes on, yet here she was, bowing and presenting her own name like she was standing before a monarch.

“Now that is a proper civil greeting, even in the Wilds! You may call me Morrigan.” She smiled pleasantly. “Shall I guess your purpose? You sought something that is here no longer…”

Alistair’s eyes furrowed. “Here no longer? You _stole_ them, didn’t you? You’re some kind of…sneaky..witch thief!” 

Morrigan rolled her eyes with an amused twinkle. “Resorting to accusations, are we? How quaint. Tell me, how does one steal from dead men, exactly?”

“Quite easily, it seems,” Alistair sneered. “Those documents are Grey Warden property, and I suggest you return them.”

“I will not,” she said, and continued before Alistair could interrupt, “for it was not I who removed them. ‘Twas my mother in fact. But invoke a name that means nothing here if you must.”

Feeling it was necessary to step in, Carmen asked, “Could you perhaps take us to her?”

Morrigan regarded her for a moment, before smiling. “A sensible request. Hmm, I like you,” she said genuinely.

“I’d be careful,” said Alistair. “First it’s, _‘_ _I like you!’,_ but then ZAP — frog time.” 

Carmen nearly choked on her own spit. 

“No! I'm too young to die where grasshoppers lay their eggs! She’ll put us all in the pot she will!” trembled Daveth. 

For once, Ser Jory showed the first sign of sensibility during the entire trip. “If the pot’s warmer than this forest, then it’d be a nice change.” _Finally, thank you._

Morrigan simply began to strut away without looking back, calling out to them. “Follow me then if it pleases you.”

Carmen knew not of what to expect when she met the mother witch, but it certainly wasn't just an old woman. Indeed, Flemeth as she called herself, was very plain-looking. If she hadn't dressed so hagridly, she could've passed as any old lady in Denerim. As it turns out, however, Flemeth was a raving lunatic. Either that, or...no, she was a raving lunatic. 

Not that there was anything wrong with that. Surviving out in these Wilds required a certain mindset, you could say. But one conversation with her, and let's just say Carmen could tell that she was indeed Morrigan's mother.

After retrieving the treaties, Morrigan escorted them out of the Wilds and back to Ostagar. Which was a blessing, really. Carmen was in no mood to get lost several times over again. 

Before entering Ostagar once more, she stopped and faced Morrigan. “Thank you.”

She nodded. “Watch the skies, Warden,” she said. 

Then promptly did the witch shift into a raven before their eyes, leaving the group to stare with their mouths agape. The raven flew away, disappearing deep into the embracing trees.

Daveth gave a whistle as he too gazed after the bird, then turned to Carmen. “Women, am I right?”

That got her, and she laughed for the first time since she'd arrived at Ostagar.

* * *

Meeting Loghain Mac Tir might’ve been the best thing that had happened to her all week. Which didn’t say much, considering her week, but it was the Hero of Riverdane! She was sure she had made a complete and utter fool of herself in front of him, but his words had surprised her.

 _“You’re pretty for a Grey Warden. Don’t let anyone tell you that you don’t belong. The first Warden Maric brought to Ferelden was a woman. Best warrior I’ve ever seen_.”

Carmen sighed wistfully. It was strange to finally meet the hero himself in the flesh, after the dozens of tales about him that she had grown up with. Maybe after the Joining was over with, she might be able to fight alongside him after all. She smiled to herself. 

Certainly, better thoughts than to listen to the two men bicker as they waited for Duncan to arrive. 

“All these damn tests.” Jory paced. “Have I not earned my place?”

“Stop whining,” Daveth teased, “maybe it’s tradition. Or maybe, they’re just trying to annoy you!” He flashed a grin.

Carmen rolled her eyes, both at Jory’s panic-induced ramblings and Daveth’s uncharacteristic monologue about sacrifice. 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Oh Maker’s balls, _shut up,_ ” she chastised them. 

But then came Duncan, walking in with a chalice. “At last, we begin with the Joining.” His voice seemed to still the very air itself, and all eyes turned to stare. “So it was during the first Blight, that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood. With their blood did they master the taint, and use their own weapon against them.”

Ah, so _that_ was the catch. 

She was waiting for the punchline, but knowing how serious of a man Duncan was during their brief time together, she knew that they were indeed going to be imbibing darkspawn blood. Carmen fought the urge to vomit at the notion. 

As did Jory, unsurprisingly. “‘Scuse me? We’re...we’re going to drink the blood of those..things _,_ those... _creatures?”_ he gulped.

She was just as appalled as Jory was, and her eyes subconsciously darted around her surroundings, looking for a way out if it ever came to it. 

Duncan nodded. “As the first Grey Wardens did before us. As we did before you. _This_ is the source of our power, and our victory,” he said seriously. This was no joke, indeed, and it made her stomach drop.

“Those who survive the Joining become immune to the taint,” Alistair piped in. “We can sense it in the darkspawn, and use it to slay the archdemon.” 

The recruits shifted in their spots, looking uncomfortable. Carmen folded her arms tightly. _Wait, those who survive?_

Duncan opened a flask and poured it into the chalice. The blood was black and even from here, she could see how thick it was. Almost like goo. Her gag reflex nearly took its toll once more. “We speak only a few words before the ceremony, but they have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would?” 

Alistair nodded, and dipped his head. 

_“Join us, brothers and sisters._ _Join us, in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us, as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. Should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day…we shall join you_.”

The words made her throat dry, and she started picking at the skin on her thumb. 

Duncan held the readied chalice in his hands. “Daveth, step forward.”

Daveth looked over his shoulder towards Carmen, and winked solemnly, if that was possible. “Cheers, dove.” 

She nodded, and watched him approach Duncan. He grasped the chalice with two hands, and brought it to his mouth. Carmen held her breath and bit her lips in anticipation. She could see his Adam’s apple throb as he took two large gulps of the blood. Then he handed the chalice back to Duncan, and backed away.

Nothing seemed to occur at first, and Daveth looked around in expectation. Perhaps waiting for his head to explode or something just as outlandish. “Is that it?” He laughed a bit. Even Jory sighed out in relief.

And then it happened. 

A cough. It was as faint as a whisper in one’s ears, but it was heard, and it managed to freeze everyone in place. What was a simple cough, progressed into several, accompanied by wheezes. 

Daveth wobbled where he stood like a drunken sailor, and spun around, looking towards Jory and her in confusion. He tried to swallow, but it was as if something was stuck in his throat, and he reached up to grab it. An ultimate futile action. Eventually, the coughs turned violent, and he pounded his chest several times. “Eugh…” He tried to speak, but tears spilled out of his eyes, and the coughing worsened. 

After taking two steps, Daveth’s knees went under, and he fell to the ground with a sharp grunt of pain. That was when the gagging and dry-retching began. But when he turned over to lie on his back, Carmen gasped at how pale his skin had immediately become, and that the area around his eyes had swollen pink. His one hand still clawed at his throat as it became red and inflamed from the scratches. In a brutal sense of irony, Daveth helplessly croaked like a toad. 

She and Jory backed away instinctively. The two glanced at each other in fear and helplessness, then back to the choking man before them.

Then came the vomiting. Of blood. By now, it had become clear that the man was a goner. No healer could rectify the damage that had been done to his insides, not when the sheer volume of it was twice the amount in the chalice. The blood was black as tar, mixed with a white substance that might’ve been the lunch he had that afternoon. Carmen wasn’t sure. But soon enough, there was only ever black. Writhing and twisting on the ground as he did, his mouth opened, like he was trying to scream. But only a sick, guttural gurgle escaped his mouth. “Hrrrk!”

She could see them now. The veins around his face and neck, grey and bulging from his flesh. And his eyes. Oh _Maker_ , his eyes. As if he was bitten by an infected animal, they were bloodshot and it, like his mouth and nose, would be yet another place for crimson to bleed out. Carmen watched in horror as Daveth, in an act that was entirely desperate, attempted to reach out to them. His entire body shook in a seizure, eerily reminiscent of the movements of a fish on the deck.

Carmen's own breaths became quicker at the sight, and she swallowed to suppress the urge to gag. She wanted to do something. What she really should've done was kill him herself with a clean cut and end the poor sod's misery. But she couldn’t summon the power to move.

Finally, mercifully, the shaking stopped, and one final rasp escaped his purple lips before he went limp, leaving behind only a twitch of his fingers as aftershocks.

His once mocha brown eyes were milk-white.

Carmen and Jory gaped at the dead man, eyes wide with terror. The still look of Daveth stared at her in a haunting facade, and she found that she could not look away from those ghosted, white eyes. It was like he was grabbed by the throat, and his entire soul forcibly ripped out, leaving behind a disturbing husk.

Duncan sighed. “I am sorry, Daveth.” 

Her own throat tightened and her mouth was dry. She could barely hear Duncan calling for Ser Jory. Could barely even hear the panics coming from him, nor the harsh unsheathing of his sword out of his scabbard, nor his frightened pleas about having a wife and child.

She glared at Alistair with a mix of hurt and betrayal, but even he was disturbed. He looked away and refused to meet her gaze.

Carmen would forever have the image of Daveth’s hollow eyes staring back at her burned into her memory.

“I am sorry.”

Her thoughts were cut off by the sound of a body hitting the floor, and Duncan sheathing his sword. 

Ser Jory was dead.

“But the Joining is not yet complete.”

Carmen snapped her head up to Duncan, then to Alistair. 

“W-what...you.. _._ ” Her throat constricted in shock and, try as she might, her legs locked in place, refusing to move like they'd been captured by quicksand. 

Duncan paid no mind to her panic, and his expression was very much the same as the Tranquil she had met near the battlements. She couldn't tell if that said more about him or herself. “Carmen, step forward.”

She couldn’t believe it. The words had almost been unheard. Was this her punishment after all? Did the Maker smile in anticipation as He was about to watch her die in the most horrific of ways? Truly a pleasant death; to continuously hack blood as the taint ripped you apart from the inside. She shuddered at the thought. Even now, Carmen was still looking for an escape, anything at all to avoid such a gruesome fate. Every nerve on her body screamed at her to run, or fight. But if Jory’s dead body was any indication of how well that plan would go, then she would sooner die by the blade than to end up going through whatever Daveth went through. 

Unfortunately, spite drove her forward towards the chalice. _Stupid, foolish girl. Look what you’ve gotten yourself into this time. You’re really done for now, aren’t ya?_

Taking it from his hands, Carmen stared at the swirling mass of inky blood in the cup with disgust. Ebony like the abyss was the fluid, and she gagged at the smell. Fetid, rotten, cursed thing. Took one to know one, though, so perhaps it was a fitting end. She blinked, downed the remaining content with a single gulp, and waited.

The hairs on her arms rose, like something was moving on her. _No,_ moving _within_ her. Threatening to burst out like flies from larvae. She couldn’t remember how she ended up on her knees so quickly. Nor how the muscles in her throat convulsed. It burned. Everything burned. Her blood sang of a hundred fire ants and she was quite sure her eyes were going to fall out. It was the worst imaginable muscle spasm she had ever experienced. A full-body jolt sent her to the ground. The pain pulsated through her, barreling down her spine. In time, Carmen found that she couldn't breathe, the muscles responsible for inhalation petrified. She could feel her insides fight vigoriously against the incorporeal enemy that had infiltrated her body, desperate to force the invader out in any way possible.

Carmen sucked an intake of breath to achieve at least a moment of relief, but her throat seized up in an invisible vice grip once again. The taint wriggled through her arteries and to her brain, twisting, altering against her will, _destroying_ , then creating something else. Something disgusting that made her feel dirty all over. 

Just when she thought it couldn't get any worse than this, something in her chest tugged open. It tore apart the marrowed cage of her ribs and filled the chasm where her heart was with onyx lava. At this point, she couldn't even muster the energy to give a damn about her family anymore. Fuck everyone and everything. Nothing mattered in this moment but the pain. The pain took hold of her and made it her entire being, as if her existence had already forgotten what it was like to feel anything else but this. 

She writhed and whimpered against the stone floor, looking up towards the stars with tears in her eyes. There came a sudden clarity in which Carmen realized she was going to die, and she more than gladly welcomed death with opened arms if it meant the pain would just _end._

But Alistair knelt beside her and spoke the words she had both feared and longed to hear the most.

“It’s retreating,” he said with hope. His voice was distant and muffled. 

“Keep her stable.” 

Another voice, presumably Duncan’s. She couldn’t tell anymore. Their voices became deeper and deeper until they were barely recognizable. Her vision blurred, head ringing with pain. Someone was picking at her brains, ripping pieces out of her head, and her bones were being chewed through by termites, she was sure of it. 

A voice whispered in her ear in a language she had never heard of before. But for an unexplainable reason, she understood everything it said.

 _‘Yo_ _ur skeleton is getting ready to hatch_.’

Then suddenly, Carmen was falling through the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kind of always wondered what it must've been like to drink darkspawn blood, and I feel like the game never really showed the full extent of how painful it must've been. And honestly, I bet it hurts like a bitch. Like...Joffrey's Purple Wedding + a Witcher's Trial of the Grasses levels of agony, mixed in with the worst acid trip you could think of. Nasty stuff.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	6. Apocalypse Dreams

As a child, Carmen once put a mouse in a jar, but had forgotten to leave any air holes. Just sealed it up good and tight. Not mean, just careless. Funny mousey gasped all night before it croaked. Nasty, bloated, dead thing.

Was that what she looked like now? Or perhaps worse than she could imagine. Dead on the ground in Ostagar with her blood pouring out of her eyes and mouth, looking like a watermelon that had fallen from a tower? How awfully embarrassing. Maybe it was a fitting end for her, but poor Daveth didn’t deserve that. Even burning at a stake would’ve been better. The smoke would suffocate you long before the flames even touched your skin. But what had happened to Daveth was sickening. There was no dignity in that death.

She remembered sinking. The stone floor had turned into quicksand, and she was barely holding onto her world. Then she was but a raindrop that hung at the tip of a leaf, eventually giving way to gravity. 

Carmen willed herself to stand, and noticed that her legs were soaked. Forcing her eyes to focus, she could make out a shallow sea of blood, skulls, and decomposing corpses. The overwhelming smell which engulfed her entire being made her fear she would never be able to wash away the stench, and that blood would be the only scent her nose would ever have the pleasure to know.

But then, there was a bone-chilling sound torn between a roar and a shriek, so loud it shook the very earth and ripples formed in the dark sea of blood. Small waves began to roll, pushing past her like hundreds of rats scurrying around her ankles. The source of the sound revealed itself to be a large creature that flew beyond the horizon, its wings thunder-clapping over the sickly, green sky. The images were too blurry to tell exactly what it was, but every muscle in her body locked in place. It didn’t seem to see her, but as it roared again, the sound waves shook her so hard, she fell backwards. 

Suddenly, the air became fresh again and her heavy eyelids struggled to open. Hazy images slowly came into form, and she could make out two familiar faces. Then came a sound. Muffled at first, then slowly clearing, like emerging out of water. In fact, anyone could’ve told her she had been suspended underwater for hours, and she would’ve believed them. Even now, her body felt heavy like a hardened slab of cement.

She groaned. “...Hello?”

The two men sighed in relief. Alistair came up behind Duncan. “She’s alive. Thank the Maker.”

Carmen couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the comment. If her being alive was any telling, it was that the Maker was a demented jester, who enjoyed testing her until she was on the brink of snapping. 

“It is finished. Welcome,” said Duncan. “Whatever you were before, you are now a Grey Warden.”

Most people probably would’ve felt proud at the revelation. Accomplished even. But the notion only served to make her ill. Carmen sat up, and pressed her hands against her forehead. The day had come where she had died, only to find she’d come alive. 

“How do you feel?”

She took a moment to form a sentence, still dazed from whatever dream she had just woken up to. “I don’t...I don’t think I feel so good.”

“What you are experiencing is normal,” Duncan spoke, and she almost scoffed. “Just take some time to rest up and regain your strength. I leave Alistair here for you, for I have business with the king. When you are ready, head to the war room. There is to be a meeting in two hours.” 

As Duncan took his leave, Alistair steadily helped her up. “I’m sorry about what happened. In my Joining, only one of us died. It was...awful.” He shivered. “But I’m glad at least you survived.” 

“Did the recruit you went with die from the blood, or by a Warden’s blade?” Carmen challenged. Alistair flinched, but she wasn’t going to let it drop. “Don’t suppose Duncan intended to say what any of us were in for _before_ the ritual?” 

“But then who would ever join the Grey Wardens if people knew what it entailed? That’s why the Joining is so secret,” he tried to explain. 

Would Ser Jory have survived if he had taken the sip? That question would never be answered now. A bright, young man who won a tourney, of all things. She knew he didn't belong here from the start. The Wardens were a place for criminals, scoundrels, and the desperate. The heroic image the public was led to believe was for show, nothing but propaganda to bolster their cause. Her heart twisted at the inevitable lies within the letter that'd be sent to his widowed wife. Generic words laced with fake sympathy. ‘Your husband fought valiantly’, or ‘His courage will be remembered’. Pointless phrases and empty verses upon a sacrifice that would be in vain. 

Carmen sighed. “Whatever. What’s done is done.” 

Before they left, Alistair gave her an amulet. It was a vial that stored the blood used in her Joining, and something every Warden had. _‘_ _Something to remind us of those who didn’t make it this far,_ ’ he said. Was she supposed to wear it as a badge of initiation? How very morbid. She supposed it didn't matter. Carmen was already wearing things that the dead had touched.

The two walked out of the enclosure and sat near the benches where the off-duty soldiers rested. After the ritual, she had realized how hot she had become, like there was still fire in her veins. Her stomach growled with an unnatural hunger, but at the same time, the prospect of eating at the moment made her dizzy. 

“Ugh, gonna puke,” Carmen groaned with a bitter expression. “This might just be the worst hangover I’ve ever had yet.” 

Alistair offered a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, the first few hours can be pretty rough. Just take it slow.”

She shook her head hopelessly. The migraine was a constant sharp pinprick, and what felt like knives stabbing at the sides of her temples threatened to make her double over. Eventually, the hammering in her head became too much, and she quickly rushed over to the nearest bush to let out a long stream of vomit. _At least it isn't blood_ , she thought grimly.

Despite Alistair's experience with this, he seemed helpless to do anything for her. He stood to check up on her, but she waved him off.

“I’m fine,” she mustered weakly.

“You don’t _look_ fine.”

“Well then stop _looking._ ”

If Daveth was still alive, he’d no doubt tease her current state with a snide comment. Something along the lines of, _‘Damn lass, you look like shit._ ’ She hated how much she missed those comments already. Wiping her mouth with a look of absolute fury, she grumpily demanded ale from one of the servants.

“Err, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Ale wouldn’t be an ideal drink,” he said.

“Darkspawn blood wasn’t an ideal drink either,” she snarked.

“...That’s fair.”

Was she going to puke again some time later? Probably. But in her mind, she'd at least be covered in enough of her vomit tonight in hopes that the darkspawn’ll find a more flavourful corpse to feast on. 

Carmen deflated. “I’m sorry. It is just…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s been a long day.”

Alistair nodded with empathy. “I know, I understand. I remember being in a similar state back when I went through my Joining. Duncan was the only one who seemed patient. Sure, the other recruits understood what it was like, but they weren’t the ones who had to fill the chalice.” He looked up at the stars, sighing.

She let the words digest for a while, and thought about what Duncan had first said to her when they were alone in those forests. Maybe someday, she would have to hand a chalice to someone too, knowing how they could die in agony. How long did it take before he was able to emotionally detach himself from the act? A man could be anything, if they were willing to sacrifice.

“You speak kindly of him. He means a lot to you, doesn't he?” 

Alistair hummed, “He...he’s almost like a father to me.” He leaned back against the bench and gazed across the bonfire with a smile. “I was once a templar, you know? Well, not really, I was only just an initiate. I never really wanted to become one, but I liked the discipline the training taught. Then Duncan saw how useful my templar abilities could be against darkspawn magic. It was only when I joined the Grey Wardens that I truly felt at home,” he said softly. He wistfully watched the fire dance for a while longer, then turned to her. “What about you? Do you have anywhere you consider home?”

 _Home._ Carmen had missed that word. She didn’t answer right away, and closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the way father embraced her on her wedding day. Sitting in the shade of the great tree, the smell of fresh-pine having enveloped them in the morning. Soris and Shianni’s playful teases at the flower crown that made her blush. All of that, spoiled by the sins of a man who was no longer alive. Because of _her._ How long before her home was stained red with her kin’s blood, if it hasn't already? The roots of the Vhenadahl would be the only thing that would remember their bloodline, assuming the tree wasn't cut down in the process. 

“Yes,” she said, “but I don’t think they’d want me back.”

* * *

“For the umpteenth time, we do not need the help of the Orlesians, your _majesty_.”

“It has been decades, Loghain. When will you realize that perhaps the Blight is more of a concern to the Orlesians than trying to conquer Ferelden?”

Loghain looked at the king with shame and shook his head vehemently. “What a blessing that Maric did not live long enough to see his son be so eager to hand this country over to those who enslaved us for a century.”

But King Cailan refused to be baited, and forced Loghain to face him. “Then our current forces will have to suffice, won’t they?” he bit back. 

The two bickered while she and Alistair watched from the sides behind Duncan. It was unclear who held the true power in that room. King Cailan might've been the wearer of the crown, but it was Loghain who was general to the army. A king without his soldiers was powerless. If the dangers of the battle were such a concern, why not just wait for reinforcements? Surely the two countries’ past transgressions would be put behind them due to a common enemy? Clearly not, according to Loghain, which annoyed Cailan all the same.

“Let it be known that I did not suggest rushing into battle without reinforcements, and for every Fereldan that will have died after this battle, they might’ve been saved by an Orlesian.”

 _“Enough!”_ Loghain pounded the war table with his fist. _That_ hit a nerve. “Proceed with the plan, lest we argue in circles until the darkspawn overrun this place.”

Of course, that didn’t stop Loghain from making off-handed, snide comments to Cailan’s naive love for glory and his over-reliance on the Grey Wardens. At least she and Alistair’s job in the battle was pretty straight forward. They were to light a beacon to signal for Loghain’s men to flank the darkspawn. It sounded simple enough. Though, Carmen was admittedly disappointed she would not be on the front lines. 

Hundreds of soldiers rushed to their designated coordinates, shouted commands filled the nightly air, and the only few who remained in the main encampment were a few guards, as well as Duncan, Alistair, and Carmen. 

_‘If it the archdemon comes, leave it to us. I want no heroics from either of you,_ ’ Duncan had said seriously. Well, the man was always serious, but he seemed much more grave tonight. 

“Wait for the signal and light the beacon. How hard could that be?” Alistair said brightly. 

* * *

The tower was overtaken by darkspawn.

Because _of course_ it wouldn’t go smoothly. Even worse, Carmen’s migraine from earlier thought it was the perfect time to return with a vengeance. But it was different this time. Instead of sharp knives, this one felt like a giant hand squeezing the back of her head, and there were...voices? Hundreds of them, like a crowd, fighting for her attention.

Heavy rain battered sideways against her face from the sheer force of the wind, lightning crackled through the dark heavens, and the agonizing cries from dozens of men, who had been engulfed in flames or had their limbs cut to pieces, helplessly crawled against the ground as the battle ensued. There wasn't a more chilling sight than grown ass men crying for their mothers, as they were torn apart by a pack of darkspawn. Carmen shuddered. If it was this bad where they were, she wondered what it was like _down there_ at the bottom of the gates where the true thick of the battle was.

She stumbled for a moment before she opted to rest her hand against the door frame of the tower. 

Alistair looked back and rushed to her. “Hey, you okay?”

She shook her head. “Headache. Not from the drink this time, I don’t think.”

Understanding flashed across his face. “Ah, it must be the darkspawn horde. I can feel it too.” When he was met with only a confused stare, Alistair quickly elaborated. “Remember when I said Wardens can sense darkspawn? Well, with so many of them in one place, it can get quite overwhelming at first. But you can try to focus on your other senses to tune it out. You get used to it over time.”

“Being a Warden is just full of so many surprises.”

Alistair looked guilty, and she grew curious. Unfortunately, they didn't have time to sit about and discuss the many symptoms of being a Warden.

The two had plowed through the darkspawn that inhabited the tower, and even for all her disdain for the Grey Wardens, Carmen had to admit the heightened endurance gained from the ritual came to be very useful when one had to ascend numerous flights of stairs, all while simultaneously fighting off groups of darkspawn. One would think battling an ogre would be exhausting afterwards, but she had never been more eager for another battle. 

With a scratch of flint and steel, the beacon was lit after the signal was shot. 

“We’ve done it!” cheered Alistair.

Carmen couldn’t help but chuckle at his excited victory cry. His jollity was infectious and she found herself hiding a smile behind the back of her hand. 

Placing her spear against the wall next to the window, she leaned against the frame, wiping sweat off her brows. But as her eyes swept over the ensuing battlefield, something wasn’t quite right.

“Alistair, how many of Teryn Loghain’s men did they say would come?” she asked without looking at him.

“Couple hundred. Why?”

She turned to him with a look of concern. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him closer so he too could look out the window. Uncertainty took root, but eventually, understanding dawned on their faces, and they both looked at one another with dread. _They’re not coming, are they?_

“What-”

As if on cue, the large doors were rammed open, and the darkspawn came flooding in like a tidal wave. The next few moments were chaos.

Carmen couldn’t remember when she had two arrows lodged into her sternum and side, but she could hear Alistair’s shouts and the horrific shrieks of darkspawn as they overwhelmed the two of them. She fell on one knee and worked on pulling out the first arrow with a sharp hiss of pain. But by the time she looked up, Alistair’s shield had skidded away to the other side of the room, and another ogre was beating him to a pulp. 

Forcing herself to stand, she ran to Alistair’s side and held her own shield up. The force of the ogre’s punch nearly broke her arm, and she had to muster all her strength to keep it up. 

But the ogre effortlessly thwacked her shield away, gripped her by her collar with its large claws, and she was roughly thrown against the wall. The impact made her yell in pain. Something broke. Carmen didn’t know what, specifically, but she heard the crack of bone and knew that _something_ was definitely broken. 

The last thing she heard before passing out from the exertion was a roar, an explosive breach on the side of the walls, and the smell of sulphur bursting into the tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Years later, I've finally gotten down the rules for 'Ferelden' vs 'Fereldan'.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	7. The Rosebush

From beyond the sanctuary lay the white-gold altar that gleamed under the morning’s sunlight through the windows from above. Sunlight that reflected off the stained glass images of Andraste, filling the apse with a serene beauty that could only be felt as a gentle, warm balm. The light smell of incense and candle wax gave the air a comforting aura. Very soon, the choir and organ would fill the Chantry with music and the chant. But for now, all was quiet, save for the occasional creaks of the wood. 

Her hands were held in silent prayer, knees knelt before the holy statue, as she sought for answers no man could possibly have. But her reverence was broken by a voice from behind.

“Leliana, what are you doing here so early? Communion doesn’t start until a few hours.”

The skirt of her robes unfolded as she got up, and she turned around to face the elder lady with a surprised smile.

“Revered Mother,” Leliana staggered, “I did not expect you to find me here. I was simply...praying.”

The old woman chuckled. “I could see that, girl. It seems I only ever find you here these past couple of days. You seem troubled. Whatever is on your mind?”

Leliana hesitated, before relenting to tell her. Surely, the Revered Mother of all people would understand. “Forgive me if this will sound strange, but I’ve been having dreams. Horrible dreams unlike anything I’ve ever had before. I fear they might mean something.”

“Dreams?” the Revered Mother asked. “What kind of dreams?”

“Vivid nightmares of what I believe to be a vision. In it, there was an impenetrable darkness. It was so dense, so real, and there was a noise. A terrible, ungodly noise. I stood at the peak and watched as the darkness consumed everything. And when the storm swallowed the last of the sun’s light, I...I fell, and the darkness drew me in.”

Throughout the entire telling of her dream, the Revered Mother grew increasingly confused at her vague descriptions, and scratched her chin with one hand. 

“And you think this is a...vision?” she asked with a skeptical look.

Leliana nodded. “Yes, I believe so. This wasn’t the first time I’ve had the dream. Could it be a sign from the Maker? It has to be,” she beseeched.

The Revered Mother arched an eyebrow. 

“Do not be ridiculous now. The Maker is absent, and would not send visions to lay sisters. It was merely a bad dream, and nothing more.”

“But it cannot be! I know the Maker has not abandoned us. I hear Him in the wind and the waves. I feel Him in the sunlight that warms my skin. And what we’ve heard of Ostagar’s fall, the spread of the darkspawn...this could not just all be a coincidence,” Leliana pleaded, hoping she would understand. “You have to believe me.”

The old woman shook her head with disbelief. “If this ‘vision’ strengthens your integrity, then so be it. But I would advise you not to speak such blasphemous thoughts out loud again,” she chastised gently, but the underlying message was clear. “Now, if you would excuse me.”

Leliana slumped as she watched her leave. The Mother didn’t believe her. But who would? The vision of hers _did_ sound outlandish and she only realized after re-telling out loud. She had not even told the full extent of her dreams, for if she did, they would surely cast her out to an asylum. There was a woman, a crooked knight clad in azure, slowly dying. In her final moments, the stranger leapt into the abyss, and Leliana remembered the indescribable feeling of wanting to follow. It was all so very bizarre, and the final details were lost upon awakening, leaving nothing but confused frustration. Maybe they were just dreams after all. But then why were the reccuring? If they werent visions, why did they feel so _right?_

Sighing, Leliana left the sanctuary and fled to the gardens for some fresh air to clear her mind. But on her way out, two lay sisters leered at her beside the doorway. 

“Ah, if it isn’t Sister Leliana. _Tsk tsk,_ rambling about your oddities again, are you? You’d think that after everything the Revered Mother has done for you, you wouldn’t trouble her mind with...whatever’s in yours _,_ ” she mocked, causing the other sister to snicker beside her. 

Leliana bit her tongue, in case she’d say something she’d regret. “What do you want, Natalie?”

The woman gave a taunting smirk. “Oh you always try to be so glib, Leliana. But you’re not fooling anyone with your silly ‘visions’ and wild tales.”

Leliana felt her cheeks flush at their ridicule, but stubbornly refused to be cowed. “I know what I saw, and I know what I believe. The Revered Mother said-”

“The Revered Mother said whatever it took to pacify you,” the sister cut her off. “She was humouring you and being kind, as she always is. But do you truly think she lets you stay out of pleasure? Even I grow ill at the sight of you.”

The two sisters cackled like hyenas, whispers of the word 'heretic' between their breaths, as they left her with smug looks on their faces. Leliana loosened the grip on her robes once their voices finally became mere distant echos in the hall, crestfallen and wanting nothing more than to retreat. Even in the Chantry, she was never really free from the judging gazes of others. But it wasn’t always so terrible. Their cruelty was at least blunt, so unlike what it was in Orlais.

Many knew she had come from the neighbouring nation, and though that never served to be a root cause for scorn, the older Fereldans were still wary of their once-hated enemies. But blending in with the inhabitants of Lothering wasn’t much trouble for her. They were simple folk. They said one thing and they meant it. Their calloused hands spoke plainly of their labours. Lothering was never the richest town, but it was honest work. Peasants who worried not for the delicacies of fashion, cuisine, or politics. So true that was to the point where it was almost primitive at first. But after almost three years, Leliana had come to feel at home with their simplicity. 

Mustering the will to drag her feet to the gardens, she breathed in the fresh air of the morning. The dew from last night’s rain greeted her with wet tingles on her shins, and though Ferelden’s winters were long and brutal, the chirping of a bird signaled the first signs of spring. She whistled back to the tune quietly to herself. 

Most of the garden herbs were planted in pots, some with the strength to withstand the cold air, but others had been brought indoors. Native flowers with petals of all the colours the eye could see. Patches of Embrium, a bundle of Dawn Lotus, and those little clusters of royal-blue flowers. ‘Myosotis’ on a healer’s tongue, but to everyone else, they called them ‘Forget-me-nots’.

To the far corner of the garden was where the dead rosebush lay. Where it had always been, because no one could be bothered to get rid of it. It was just sort of _there_. It had already been dying two winters ago, and everyone had forgotten to tend to it, until it eventually withered away into a black, hideous, mangled thing. But a slash of white caught her eyes. The colour made Leliana pause for a moment, before she walked over to the dead bush to take a closer look. 

She gasped.

The sight stole her breath away for a solid few seconds. Against all reason and odds, peeking through the skeletal remains of the gnarled bush, was a single white rose. Far from being wilted. No, it was _alive_ , its petals so vibrantly white against the black of the bush, it almost glowed in contrast. 

Leliana couldn’t believe her eyes. There was no possible way for this to have happened. The rosebush had been dead for two years. This had to be some sort of trick, possibly a jape and someone had left it here. But when she knelt down to gently touch the stem, it didn't fall or break away, confirming that it was, indeed, real. The thorns, of course, gave her a small cut, and Leliana pressed her finger against her lips, licking the small wound with a perplexed smile.

It was beautiful, that a rose could blossom out of death. Perhaps this was what it all meant. The dreams, the visions, the fear she had felt when she gazed into the abyss. It could only be a sign from the Maker. That even with darkness looming over the lands, the Blight ready to swallow the world whole, there was still hope. Hope that there would always be beauty worth saving, that the Maker did not abandon His children, and that one day, the dawn would come.

Leliana softly caressed the tip of the rose’s petals with care, treating it like a fragile newborn babe that had been left only for her to see. Indeed, she felt no need to show the others. No one would believe her, and they would sooner ridicule her than to understand what the flower meant. She knew that now. Gone were the days when people accepted signs from their god, their lives far too busy and preoccupied with current perils to really take a step back, and that was okay. Leliana didn't need them to, it was her little secret. After all, the light could only be seen by those who wanted to see.

A newfound resolve emboldened her and Leliana stood up with a sense of determination she hadn't felt in a long time. She would miss Lothering and its people, but she knew what she had to do now. 

_The righteous stand before the darkness, and the Maker shall guide their hand._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's her (づ✿´ڡ`)づ*:･ﾟ✧  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	8. Fear and Loathing in Ferelden

_“Hold her down!”_

_Four arms wrapped around her wrists and ankles in a death grip, and someone’s knees pressed flat against her back, as she helplessly tried to wiggle out of their grasps._

_“Let me go!”_

_They laughed cruelly and punched her with a force she was afraid would break her jaw. Several denizens watched and went. They had walked by, taken a peek at what the ruckus was all about, then continued with their merry way._

_“I’ll fix you right up, rabbit, don’t you worry now.”_

_The barest glint of silver appeared, and her eyes widened as her heartbeat quickened at the sight. They waved it in her face for a few seconds, before slowly tapping the flat part of the knife across her cheek. Its cold surface made her shake as they continued to laugh. Then the sharp end of the blade dug into the tips of her left ear and her vision went white._

_They had made sure to drag it slowly, not so deep to cut it off, but just enough to leave a wide gash. Why? Simply because they wanted to see how loud she could scream._

Carmen had woken up with a gasp. Her heart pounding so hard, she could heal the thumps reverberating inside her head. The memory of being overwhelmed by darkspawn was still so fresh in her mind.

The last thing she expected was to be alive, rescued and healed by Flemeth and Morrigan. It was almost too much to bear. The death of not only nearly everyone at Ostagar, but the king as well. The worst part she never wanted to hear was that of Loghain's betrayal. What was it that they said? Never meet your heroes? Carmen put on her armour with confusion and a bitter taste in her mouth.

Outside the hut, from a couple of paces away, stood Alistair and Flemeth. Upon seeing her, he had rushed to her, ecstatic with joy that she still lived. Probably relieved that he didn’t have to fight the Blight alone rather than being truly worried for her well-being. To be fair, neither would she. 

“Flemeth...you saved us. Why...? How?” Carmen asked, nearly at a loss for words.

The witch scoffed good-naturedly. “You are Grey Wardens, are you not? The last two in Ferelden, if I am correct. With the Blight threatening to destroy the lands, we can’t have you all perish, now can we?” she explained. “And if you must know how, I turned into a great bird and plucked you out of the tower. Make of that as you will.” She said it so casually as if it was a common occurrence. 

Carmen and Alistair looked at one another, dumbfounded. She had heard of stranger things, but was sure she’d need a couple of hours for everything to sink in. 

“And what of Loghain?” demanded Alistair, the faintest streaks of anger and betrayal shining through his voice. “He left the king to die! He...how could he do such a thing?!”

“Now that is a good question,” said Flemeth, her face growing somber. “Men’s hearts hold shadows darker than any creature.”

Alistair scowled at the ground. “He is a traitor and must be brought to justice.”

A corner of Flemeth's mouth rose. “Careful, lad. Never underestimate an older man in a profession where people die young. Loghain is a master of his craft. But I suspect he is not the only one pulling the strings. Fear the snake who fancies itself a dragon.” She turned to Carmen. “Prepare yourselves for the worst. You have a Blight to stop.“

Carmen threw her arms up in frustration. “But what can two Grey Wardens do?”

Alistair nodded, looking just as helpless and uncertain. If hundreds of the Order could be wiped out in a single skirmish against the darkspawn, what chance did she and Alistair have? It was all a terrible nightmare come to fruition. 

“You underestimate yourselves and what you have at your disposal,” said Flemeth. “As I recall, the moment you first met Morrigan and I in the Wilds, you came searching for something...very important," she hinted. 

After a few moments, Alistair lit up, and if one squinted, a small sun could be seen atop his head at the idea he sprouted. “The treaties! Of course!” He turned to Carmen with hope in his eyes. “Grey Wardens can demand aid from dwarves, elves, mages, and other places. They’re obliged to help us during a Blight!”

Now that did sound like an army. Could they do it? She didn’t want to believe it would be as simple as that, because realistically speaking, it never was. They would have to travel the lands and seek aid, with nothing but a few scraps of paper and a uniform to show for it. The two of them couldn’t look any less of a Warden.

Carmen breathed sharply, pressing a hand to her head. “I can’t believe we’re doing this...but what choice do we have? It’s about as good of a start as any.” She scratched her eyes with dread, wondering how she got herself into this mess. “If our survival was any telling, then it’s that the Maker still has His morbid sense of humour after all. _Blasted damnation_ ,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

Flemeth cackled. “So you are set then? Ready to save the world?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. Thank you for everything, Flemeth.” 

“No no, thank _you._ You are the Grey Wardens after all. But before you go, I have one more thing to offer you,” she said, a sly look in her eyes as she did. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Morrigan strutted out of the hut and met with the group. 

“The stew is bubbling, mother dear. Shall we have two guests for the eve or none?”

“The Grey Wardens will be leaving now. And you will be joining them,” Flemeth said simply.

“Such a shame-what?!” Morrigan’s expression turned from nonchalant to flabbergasted in a span of a second. 

“You heard me, girl. Last time I looked, you still had ears!" Flemeth laughed. "Now pack your things. You’ve been itching to get out of these Wilds for years. Now is your chance. As for you, Wardens,” she said, turning to face them, “Take this gift. For the gods surely won’t.”

Carmen nodded seriously. “If she wishes to...” Morrigan only huffed in response.“...then we accept. She won’t come to harm with us.”

Morrigan made a face, and sighed. “Allow me to get my things, if you please.” She marched back into the tent. A minute later, she reappeared with a staff and a satchel. “If we are to embark on this quest now, might I suggest a village north of the Wilds as our first destination? ‘Tis not far and mayhaps we could restock for supplies. Or, if you prefer, I shall simply be your silent guide. The choice is yours,” she said, all in two single breaths.

“No, don't hold your tongue with me. Speak your mind,” Carmen said.

Flemeth gave a low laugh. “You will regret saying that.”

Morrigan grumbled, voice practically seething. “Dear, sweet mother. You are so kind to cast me out like this. How fondly I shall remember this moment."

“Don't pretend like you haven't been itching to leave. Now's your chance. I might even get some peace for a change,” Flemeth mused.

“I hear the peace of a grave is eternal,” Morrigan remarked flatly. “Do not forget the stew on the fire! I would hate to return to a burned down hut.” 

Her mother waved her off with a scoff. “Bah! 'Tis far more likely you will return to see this entire area, along with my hut, swallowed up by the Blight.”

“I...all I meant was..” Morrigan stammered, looking almost hurt by the words.

Flemeth nodded. “Yes, I know, girl. Do try to have fun.”

Finding themselves back on the path was thankfully easy. But Carmen’s stomach nearly dropped after Morrigan told her it had been an entire week since the fall of Ostagar. They were completely out of the loop when it came to the current events and the aftermath of the defeat. The king’s death would be the harbinger of darker things to come, she was sure of it.

“Back there, how’d you know how to do that?” she asked.

Alistair cocked his head. “Do what?”

“Approach a mabari without spooking it.” Shortly after leaving the Wilds, they had found a large dog fleeing from a group of darkspawn. It was quite the odd sight, but Carmen remembered the little fellow from Ostagar. He had been tainted, and only an antidote derived from a flower was able to save him. She was pleased to see he still lived. For better or for worse, so was the mabari. Though, she was still uncertain about its decision to imprint her, as it wouldn’t dare stop following her now. _How lovely_. Just what they needed. 

“Oh, you learn a couple of things having spent so much time with them. I mean, I slept in a dog pen many times as a child,” he said flippantly.

Both Carmen and Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

Alistair looked away shyly. “Well, it wasn’t that bad.”

She smirked. “I’m sure.”

“How odd,” said Morrigan. “We now have a dog, and Alistair is _still_ the dumbest one in the party. And if I am to guess, the least hygienic out of the two as well, if that is possible.”

“And that, coming from someone who lived in a swamp! You smell like mouldy cheese.” Alistair scrunched his nose.

“You’re certain that’s not just your own breath wafting back to your face?” 

“Hey! Now you're being unfair.” Alistair pouted. “Your words wound my manly feelings. All one of them,” he said dryly.

“Then I’ll be sure to send you an apology letter.” Morrigan coughed to clear her throat. “‘Dearly detested. I am so _terribly_ sorry, and I _beg_ for your forgiveness. With no regards, Morrigan’.”

Carmen sighed through her nose.

“Gods, give me strength...” she said under her breath, closing her eyes. Really, her life up to that point could be summarized by a long, drawn-out sigh. She got the impression that today was going to be a long day. 

* * *

Apparently, the Grey Wardens were wanted. Quite a hefty bounty on their heads too, if highwaymen were willing to attack them. They had been charged with the murder of the king. Just how far the word had spread though, they still didn’t know.

“Well,” said Alistair, “maybe next time, they’ll think twice before-”

“There won’t be a next time,” Carmen said, face gleaming with murder.

The bandit leader’s eyes widened, taking a few steps back when he saw Carmen ready her spear. 

“Wait, no, you said that you’d let me go!” 

“I lied.”

He yelped in pain as the spear pierced his chest, and Carmen pushed his body off as it dropped to the ground. Alistair grimaced, but didn’t say anything. They were bandits and thieves after all. _But so was Daveth._ She shook her head at the thought and had Alistair loot their bodies in case they needed anything. The rest of the supplies were left behind.

It had only taken them a day to reach the village, and Carmen was eager to catch up with the current state of affairs. 

By Alistair’s words, Lothering was as pretty as a painting. If the painting was splattered with a slab of muck all over the canvas, and the painter stuck some wilted flowers to it for good measure. Hopefully, their drinks made up for it, and Carmen's mouth watered at the thought. She didn't exactly have the best start to the day, but it was nothing that a good belly full of mead couldn’t solve. 

“Alright, first we’ll go get some food and drinks. I don’t think I’ve eaten a proper meal since Ostagar. I’d eat and drink out of an old boot if I had to,” she grumbled.

Alistair grinned. “I was beginning to wonder when your appetite would start acting up. Another symptom of a Grey Warden, I’m afraid.”

She huffed. “Wonderful. Let's hope we won’t draw too much attention. Afterwards, we’ll restock for supplies. Sleeping bags, extra rations, and the like. Then meet with this Arl Eamon of yours, yeah?”

He nodded brightly. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll help us. He’s a good man.”

Lothering was as dirty as it looked. Mud, grime, dying grass, and the first signs of famine that signaled the darkspawns’ inevitable arrival. Refugees flooded the small town til it was near bursting with people, and the sounds of desperate, panicked cries filled the air. It was pitiful, really. Morrigan shrivelled her nose.

Before opening the door to the tavern, Carmen pulled her hood up.

Maker, it smelled worse than she thought. At least the afternoon wind blew most of the rancid stench of unwashed peasants away. But here in a tavern, all of it was condensed into one crowded space, and the eye-watering aroma of sweat welcomed her with open arms. Carmen breathed it all in deeply. The horrid smell of a tavern, coupled with the familiar sounds of a bard’s lute, would always put her at ease. At least some things would never change.

“Come, Blue.” Her newest companion snuffled her hand. None of the people in the tavern even gave a second glance to the absolute beast of a dog. This was Ferelden, after all. Amusingly enough, they probably treated mabari as better second class citizens than the city elves. 

Going over to the bar table, she set her spear against the counter, her shield strapped to her back, and called for a pint of brandy. Very traditional, nothing exotic. It was drain pour and tasted like aged piss if she had to guess, but she was too thirsty to really care. They had to save their coin anyway. Perhaps they could get a few jobs at the Chanter’s board she spotted earlier. 

Carmen slid two extra silvers across to the bartender, and leaned in close. “What’s been going on?”

The man smoothly took the coin, and spoke in a hushed voice. “After Ostagar’s fall, and the king’s tragic death, Teryn Loghain has declared the Grey Wardens traitors of Ferelden.” 

Nothing new here, she noted. She and Alistair would have to work on being less conspicuous, or they would attract unwanted attention. She continued to drink grimly, as he continued.

“They say the darkspawn’ll come here next. Refugees have been pouring in from the south every day, we’ve hardly 'nough stock left. And with those damn highwaymen milking the pockets out of these folks, escape has been difficult.”

Carmen put her drink down. “The highwaymen? Oh, you won’t have to worry about them anymore,” she said with a smug look and a tone that told him everything he needed to know.

He gaped in surprise, and as if on cue, the music in the pub had dwindled until it stopped. As quickly as it appeared, his open mouth was replaced with a smile. “Oh! Well how fortunate. Then on behalf of the people, you have my thanks.” Looking around quickly, he leaned in even closer to the point where their voices were nearly drowned out by the tavern noise. “Listen, I know you’re a Warden. My advice? Get out of here while you still have the chance.”

She nodded. The last thing he wanted was trouble and she understood that much. He left her to her drink, and she spent the next few minutes contemplating their next move. First Redcliffe. According to Alistair, Arl Eamon was an influential man in the Bannorn. He would be the only one who had the political power to actually challenge Loghain. Kinloch Hold wasn’t far from Redcliffe either, so getting help from the mages would be their very next stop. Carmen closed her eyes and steadied her breath. _One at a time now. We’ll get there when we get there._

Her thoughts were broken by someone appearing beside her. 

A woman with red hair slowly slid a glass of whiskey across to her. This time, it was Carmen's turn to stare in surprise. It was the first time someone had bought her a drink. Instinct told her to politely turn down the stranger’s offer, and if it was any other drink, then she absolutely would have. But it was not just regular 'ol rum, and Carmen would never refuse a good shot.

As she took the beverage, feeling the ice-cold glass greet her hands, Carmen could do nothing but gaze at the stranger like she had just given her a flower. Her hair was short, barely brushing her shoulders. The Chantry robes stood out the most, an incredibly stark contrast to the unspoken vulgur dress code of a typical tavern. If her attire was so out of place, Carmen wondered why she didn’t notice her before. 

She took a sip and had the contents sit in her mouth for a bit. Then she let it slowly slide down her throat, savouring the delicious burn. By the gods, she hadn’t tasted good rye whiskey for far too long. If she left it on her tongue for a while longer, she could probably figure out the type of wood the barrel was that the alcohol was stored in. The sweet, lingering aftertaste made Carmen guess that it was oak.

The stranger before her either had to be a psychic, or certified Maker-sent. “How’d you know?” she asked. Out of all the drinks!

A ghost of a smirk danced across the blossom of the woman's lips. “You get an inkling to someone’s taste by the way they carry themselves.” 

Carmen regarded her curiously, hiding a smile behind another sip. The woman's accent made the elf tilt her head ever so slightly to catch the pleasant notes. It was so different from the harsher ones native to Ferelden. She put her coin on Orlesian, but it wasn’t as heavy as the ones she used to hear that made her feel like a foreigner in her own country, trying to wade through auditory waters. This one was more...velvety. A soft lilt in place that was its own identity altogether, the redhead's lips parted like she was about to make you a promise in a different language.

“Tell me, what’s a Sister like yourself doing in an unruly tavern such as this?”

“Hmm, these are odd times, no?” She leaned casually against the bar table, close enough to touch but just out of reach that she didn't. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Leliana. You know, you don’t look like the sort that passes through Lothering these days,” she remarked.

Carmen raised the glass to her nose so she could inhale that tinge of something both minty and spicy. But she kept herself nonchalant and aloof, pretending like the one in a million chance that someone guessed her favourite beverage right didn't do all sorts of things to her stomach. Her suspicious bone wondered what the woman wanted, though. Nobody did these sorts of gestures without wanting something in return.

But she decided to play along for now. “What do I look like to you then?”

Leliana flashed a roguish smile. “You look like the kind of trouble I wouldn’t mind getting myself into,” she purred.

Carmen chuckled lightly, thankful the alcohol was there as an excuse for her flush.

“Oh?” She arched an eyebrow, and hoped her voice remained steady. “And why, pray tell, might that be?”

There was a coy shrug. “There’s something so familiar about you that I can’t quite place. You must forgive me if this sounds outlandish...” Leliana said, and for a second, the smolder was gone, and she looked distant. Vulnerable. Next moment, the playful glint in her eyes was back. “But what would you do if I said I’ve seen you in my dreams?”

“Well, I would tell you I couldn't pass up on the opportunity to say 'I'm your dream come true',” Carmen said dryly.

Leliana giggled. “Yes, I suppose you are.”

Before being able to continue the conversation, however, a group of armoured men got up from their seats from across the tavern and marched up towards them. One of them slammed their hand on the bar table between the two women. 

“Now ain't this a surprise. Lookie here, men. Found ourselves a Grey Warden. I think we’ve just been blessed.”

She ignored them, continuing with her drink. Blue growled at the men, but didn’t attack them yet. It took one of them to pull her hood down for her to finally turn her head in annoyance.

“Didn’t know they had knife-ears among their ranks. Either way, you’re coming with us now.” He grabbed her wrist roughly, gripping it until it started to hurt. What was it about shems and their rude habit of grabbing elves by the wrist without permission? 

“Why?” she said lazily. “I didn’t do piss to you.”

“You are a traitor to the king, and Teryn Loghain demands for your arrest!” he barked.

At the corner of her eyes, she spotted Alistair looking at her with concern, shuffling slowly towards them against the edges of the tavern, his hand on the handle of his sword. Morrigan too had her hand itching towards her staff as well.

Leliana spoke in her stead. “Gentlemen, surely there’s no need for trouble. This fine lady is no doubt simply another poor soul, seeking refuge.”

But her words could not charm the soldier. “She’s more than that! You're more than welcome to protect this traitor, and we'll happily add you to the gutters.” He smiled cruelly.

Carmen forced herself to retain her control, but she could already feel herself slipping. Making bold accusations was one thing. Threatening to kill an innocent was another matter entirely. This idiot really started to get on her nerves.

“I’m going to ask you one time, and one time only. I’ll even have the courtesy to speak slowly for you. Take your bloody hands off me,” Carmen said, enunciating each syllable so he could understand. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, their skulls were far too thick to get the message. As always.

The soldier scoffed, eyes glinting with animosity. “This bitch really has the gal, don’t she?” The men only continued to laugh, unaware of just how little she cared about the law at this point. Even the patrons of the tavern stopped to put down their drinks and watched the scene unfold with trepidation. 

Carmen sighed, slowly setting her unfinished drink down on the counter. “You know, I try to be civilized. I really do. But some people just _really_ like to _test me,_ ” she spat with a low growl, practically on the verge of snapping.

Then, in one swift strike, she punched the man in the throat hard with her free hand. He immediately let go of her wrist to reach for his throat, stumbling a few steps, before he fell flat on his back, choking for air. Seconds passed and the man went unconscious. Or he was dead. Carmen couldn’t tell, as her eyes were focused on the rest of the remaining men pulling their weapons out. 

Blue howled and lunged at the nearest soldier, biting into his neck, while Alistair and Morrigan raced to her side with their own weapons drawn. Curiously though, she saw Leliana slip a dagger out of her sleeve. 

Screaming could be heard from the people in the tavern, and many had run for the exits while the fight commenced. Lifting her spear, she swatted an incoming sword, and flipped the soldier onto his stomach, planting the tip of the blade down harshly to end his life. One of them frozen by Morrigan’s spell was shattered by a strong swing of Alistair's sword, leaving hundreds of bloody ice shards to fly everywhere. 

Next, the bloke with the knife. Well, _had_ a knife. He had a broken wrist now, and a punctured forehead. Another soldier’s throat had been slit by Leliana, the motion so fluid and quick, it surprised even her. The Sister danced around their attacks with a feline grace she didn't come to expect from someone like her. After Alistair effortlessly finished the other soldier, all that remained was the captain. 

In a roar, Carmen kicked him so hard, he was sent flying until his back hit a wall. His mouth was covered in his own blood, coughing harshly as he gripped the wound on his side. Blue's jaw was dark crimson and he bared his teeth with a low growl, awaiting his mistresses’ command.

Leliana went to her side, sheathing her dagger. “Good. I think he’s learned his lesson. We can all stop fighting now.”

But Carmen had other plans. “We’re not done yet,” she said, her voice dangerously low. The captain gulped, and fruitlessly backed away on the ground, only to be met with the wooden wall.

She slowly marched towards him, violently flipping a table to the side that was in her way, sending bottles to scatter everywhere. The few people still in the tavern cowered behind counters and chairs, frightened out of their minds.

Leliana quickly stepped between them. “No, wait! There’s no need for this. Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed?”

“What’s one more? Nobody will miss _him._ ” She glared at the captain on the floor. “There’s a special place in the void for betrayers.”

Finally summoning his voice, the captain snarled back. “You’re the betrayers! I was there...the Teryn pulled us out of a trap. You..you led the king to his death!”

Alistair took several angry steps forward. “Is that what that conniving bastard _Loghain_ told you? He was the one who abandoned his king! He ignored the signal, and left everyone to be slaughtered!” he spat, as he pointed a finger at him that shook with rage. 

“This mongrel dies today,” Carmen said, raising the tip of her spear towards the man.

But Leliana refused to back away, and continued to plead. “Please, let him go. You must have some mercy in your heart.”

“Why, so he can run off and report back to Loghain? I don’t think so,” she snapped. Morrigan could be seen watching everything unfold with an interested look, and strapped her staff to her back, seeing that the situation was now in control.

“Someone will do that anyway,” Leliana said calmly. “He's beaten, there's no need to kill him. You are a Grey Warden.”

“You say that as if it is supposed to mean anything to me,” Carmen scoffed.

What was it to this woman that made keeping the scoundrel alive so important? But Leliana’s earnest look made her pause, the blue eyes gazing intently into her green ones. Her heartfelt pleas coupled with the terrified faces of the refugees stopped her in her tracks. All eyes were on her, waiting with bated breaths, and Carmen briefly wondered what she looked like to them now. Part of her felt ashamed. The other part of her endulged in it. 

After what seemed like an eternity, her weapon arm dropped slightly, and she took a few steps back. Leliana looked relieved, and stepped out of the way.

Then suddenly, before anyone could stop her, Carmen raised her spear over her shoulder and threw it towards the captain’s head with full force.

The captain screamed, but when Leliana whipped her head around to expect a man with a spear through his skull, the polearm instead was implanted deep within the wooden plank of the wall, not even an inch away from his face. So close it was, that it had pierced his left ear. The man gaped in frozen terror, hands trembling. 

Carmen took easy strides towards him, letting her hand drop to the shaft of the spear. 

“You,” she drawled, “you’re going to take a message to Loghain. Tell him…” She leaned down slightly until their faces were less than a metre apart. “...that the Grey Wardens know the truth.” She had to bite down on her teeth, lest she gave in to the temptation to cut the man’s head off and be done with it.

Pulling the spear out of the wall, she watched with disdain as the captain nodded fervently, scared shitless as he was. It took a few seconds for him to even conjure his words.

“Y-yes ma’am. I...I’ll do that right away, of course. Thank you,” he spluttered, sloppily getting up as he covered his bloodied ear with a hand.

Carmen took a handkerchief and began to wipe the blood off her weapon, dismissing him without a glance. “It is not _I_ you should be thanking for your life, worm. Now _get out of my sight,_ ” she snarled deeply, “before I change my mind.”

His eyes widened, then promptly did he stumble and trip over his feet, as he ran out of the tavern with his tail between his legs, forgetting to even retrieve his things. Alistair gave him a final disgusted look while Morrigan curled her lips in amusement. 

_Run then. Run back to Loghain’s lap and lick your wounds._

Carmen walked back to the bar, downed the last of her whiskey, and gave the bartender forty silver and an apologetic look. Now that the conflict was over, the remaining people in the tavern ushered themselves out of the tavern.

“Thank you,” said Leliana, “and I apologize for interfering. But I couldn’t just sit by and not help.”

Carmen stared at her blood-splattered robes. A Sister who knew how to handle a blade well, and covered head to toe with someone else’s blood? Now that was something you didn’t see every day. “You fought well back there. Perhaps there’s more to you than meets the eye, Leliana.”

The woman shifted on the spot and bit her lips. “I wasn’t born in the Chantry, you know. Many of us had more...colourful lives before we joined. But I’m sorry, I never caught your name before.”

She supposed there was nothing to hide now. “You may call me Carmen. Mercenary, Grey Warden, and the girl your mumsie warned you about.” She smiled wanly.

Leliana gave a breathy laugh. “It’s a pleasure. I know the Grey Wardens are sworn to fight darkspawn and stop the Blight, yes? After what happened, you’ll need all the help you can get. That’s why I’m coming along.”

She blinked. A few seconds of silence passed, before Morrigan laughed out loud from behind, while Alistair stared bemusedly beside her. Even the dog sat beside her, cocking his head with a curious whine. Leliana’s statement was bold, her back straight as she waited for her response.

But when the elf continued to say nothing, she summoned all her courage. “I’m coming with you,” she said again, “The Maker told me to.”

Finally, Carmen spoke, not believing what she just heard, “...The Maker told you to?” Not judgmental, simply curious.

It was hard to tell if the woman blushed or not, what with all the blood, but she squirmed and stammered. “I-I know that sounds absolutely insane…” Morrigan made an amused noise. “...but it’s true! I had a dream. A _vision_ _!”_ she added, desperately trying to convince her.

“And here I thought we were already full up on crazy,” Alistair said sarcastically. 

Morrigan snickered. “If your Maker told you to hurl yourself off a cliff, you would follow his command obediently?”

Leliana faltered, and looked at Carmen helplessly. “Please. Look at the people here. All the darkness, the chaos...it will only spread. The Maker doesn’t want this. _No one_ does. Let me help.”

She briefly thought about it. Leliana was a formidable fighter, she had to admit, but she hesitated to let her come along. It would be too much trouble. Not to mention, something about her was fishy.

“No.” Carmen shook her head. “You care about the people so much? You can stay and help them here.”

“Then what?” she asked with a forlorn expression. “What happens when the horde comes? It will follow anywhere we flee until all we know is destroyed.”

“The answer is still no,” the Warden spoke sternly, and it was clear no arguing would convince her this time.

Leliana’s face fell. “But I…” she deflated with defeat. “I will go, for now. It’s not important you don’t believe what I say. But think about it, please? That is all I ask,” she said lastly, then left the tavern.

* * *

“What is that thing?” cried Alistair.

“Was that what your parents used to say to you?” Morrigan asked innocently.

Alistair gave the witch a side-eye, but didn’t respond.

“He’s a qunari,” Carmen said. She went up to him, the cage barely tall enough as he had to slouch down a bit. To stand like that all day must’ve been incredibly uncomfortable. But a sneaking suspicion made her suspect that it had most definitely been more than a day, and her own back ached at the thought.

He called himself Sten, of the Beresaad. He claimed he had murdered an entire family. But the one thing that intrigued her the most was the fact that he had surrendered. It had taken some convincing from Morrigan to let him go, but qunari peoples were most often fearsome warriors. Their strength alone was a force to be reckoned with. The only exposure she had with them were of the Tal-Vashoth, who made for frequent mercenaries. To have him waste away in a cage without a means to defend himself would be a shame. So she decided to let him go, much to Alistair’s displeasure.

Opening it wasn’t so easy however. The lock would be a problem in and of itself. Carmen inwardly cursed herself for not having taken up lockpicking practice back in Denerim. Most of what she had to deal with back home were just wooden doors, in which she could easily kick down, so she never bothered. But it wasn’t as if she could do it now even if she wanted to. She lacked the picks. 

“Allow me, I could do that for you.” 

The group turned to see the Chantry girl from before.

Carmen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Oh no, not you again.”

“You wish to free him, yes? I know what he’s done, but to be left here to starve, or to be taken by the darkspawn...no one deserves that. Not even a murderer.”

Leliana approached the cage with a small pouch and knelt to pick the lock. Not even a minute later, and the clank of an unlocked cage clicked, with the qunari stepping out.

“My thanks,” he said. He looked back at Carmen. “I will follow you into battle. In doing so, I shall find my atonement.”

She nodded to Sten, and turned to face Leliana, who was waiting patiently. She exhaled a breath. “You don’t give up easily, do you?”

“I can help,” she said softly. “When I heard about the darkspawn, I felt something urging me to leave the cloister and do something. Then the Maker’s vision, and your timely arrival...it cannot all be a coincidence.”

Carmen crossed her arms. Meanwhile, Alistair hummed in thought. “Her plea seems wholehearted, and even though she seems a little...strange, she does have skill. I vote to let her come along.”

“Alistair, I’ve already a thousand things to worry about. I don’t need another _someone_ on that list. Besides,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “she’s one archdemon short of a Blight.”

“Yes, but she seems more…’Ooh, pretty colours!’ than ‘Muahaha! I am Princess Stabbity! Stab, kill, kill!’” 

She almost broke into a smile at that. Almost. At this rate, Alistair could sway her when it came to these little things as much as her dog could. His enthusiasm was contagious, as much as she hated to admit it. So much so that it reminded her of King Cailan during their brief introduction. Except Alistair was less stupid, even though Morrigan would greatly disagree with that sentiment.

Carmen groaned inwardly, sighing as she did. “Fine, very well. I guess you can tag along for now.” _Maker, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?_

Leliana practically beamed with joy. “Thank you! I _won’t_ let you down, I promise.”

Maybe she would've been a hypocrite for having Sten come along, and not Leliana. But then again, that was why she was fine with him. He was a murderer, one that sought for death in battle, so she couldn't care less for his safety. Not that Carmen cared for the Sister's safety, but there was just something crass about letting someone with good intentions die on a potentially fruitless quest, when that could be completely avoided. After all, Carmen had seen far too many foolish people die in vain lately.

“Perhaps your skull was cracked harder than mother thought?” Morrigan wondered out loud. 

“Perhaps,” she agreed, too tired to argue any further. 

Perhaps, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, we are steadily progressing.  
> You know what they say, a tavern to a bard is like a flower's nectar to a bee. I don't know who said that.
> 
> Feedback/comments welcome as always.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	9. Back on the Path

Lothering and the Chantry had been good to her, and she would never forget the Revered Mother’s kindness. But news of the darkspawn’s route from the south made one thing clear. Lothering would fall. It may not be tomorrow, or a week from now. But eventually, the darkspawn would bring their armies and taint these lands that had served as a second home to Leliana. It was a grim reality, but one she had to accept. 

She would miss Bethany the most, of telling her stories and teasing her. She was a sweet girl, always loved to help her with the gardening on occasion. Her family was preparing to leave Lothering in a few daysadays well and would try their luck in Kirkwall. Leliana could only wish them the best of luck. A small smile lingered at the last words Hawke had said to her.

 _‘Advice from an old friend of mine: If you ever find yourself about to hang, ask the guards for water. Anything could happen while they’re busy fetching it._ ’

Leliana said her goodbyes to the Revered Mother and discarded her Chantry robes, donning instead the roguish leather armour she still kept. A cuir-bouilli and scalemail hybrid, with the sword of mercy resting on red leather along the sternum. She didn’t expect to wear it again so soon, for it carried with it a reminder of the life she had before. It had been years now, but how easily it all still fit against her skin surprised her. The familiar weight of a bow and a quiver full of arrows around her torso felt _right._

When she went back to the companions waiting for her, the Warden was nowhere to be found. 

Alistair spotted her come and waved with a pleasant smile. “There you are. We got everything we need, and will be off in a minute. Just waiting on our fearless leader now,” he chirped. 

“Interesting that you’ve been so eager to let her lead, despite being the senior warden,” Morrigan remarked.

He crossed his arms. “What are you saying? That I like to follow? Well, I do. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and the next thing you know, I’m stranded somewhere without my pants.”

“At least you’re self-aware.” 

Alistair grumbled something under his breath, the word ‘witches’ being among one of them. They were a curious pair, and the observation Morrigan raised was a fair one. From what she could understand, Carmen had only been a Warden very recently. She must’ve only been a few years younger than Alistair, yet he was eager to let her take charge. The way his eyes always turned towards the elf everytime a decision was to be made, and how it lingered there for just a moment longer. Not even a day spent with the group, and Leliana had already begun to fall back into her old habits of studying new people. It was only natural though, was it not? If they were to be her traveling companions, it couldn’t hurt to learn more about them.

But Maker, they were so _young._ Did the fate of Ferelden truly rest on the shoulders of these two young Wardens? Leliana’s heart ached for the both of them, and prayed that fate would be kind to them in the coming days.

It was an odd assortment of people, from what Leliana could gather so far. A mercenary, former templar, apostate, qunari soldier, and of course, the mabari. A party as diverse as this only promised a more exciting venture, at least from her experience. Alistair was a sweet man with a boyish laugh. Silly jokes and an honest soul that was charming in its own way. Sten on the other hand had rarely spoken more than three words a sentence since being freed from his cage. And Morrigan...well, Morrigan had a tongue sharp enough to cleave a qunari’s horns, ones that Sten curiously lacked for that matter. Leliana wondered about the witch’s reasonings for accompanying the Grey Wardens. Perhaps it was intuition, but something about her rubbed Leliana the wrong way, and she was sure the feeling between them was mutual. 

The other Warden bemused her the most. The elf carried an air of authority when she walked, one that was so unlike how other elves carried themselves. Perhaps that explained Alistair's eagerness to follow her. The elves back home walked with a certain sense of trepidation, their heads ducked and shoulders closed in. Carmen walked with a stance that was just as unashamed as it was inconspicuous. An impressive feat for someone as young as her. But Carmen, like most elves, looked ageless. She lacked the thin lines on her face for a human older than thirty. Elves were a notoriously perplexing race when it came to their age, and Leliana wondered if the myths of the once immortal elves rung true. It was why Orlesian nobility kept so many elven servants. They were pleasant to look at, and Orlais was _always_ about looks. 

The mabari came up from behind and started licking her fingers. Leliana gave a small laugh when he let her scratch him behind his ears. She could understand why the Fereldans loved their dogs so much. They were friendly just as much as they were fearsome war hounds. Or maybe that was just the Fereldan part of her talking. 

“The little bugger likes you,” Alistair said with an amused smile. “She calls her Blue. It was either that or Barkspawn.”

Leliana chuckled, watching the mabari pant around her. “Speaking of which, where is the Warden now?”

“Oh, just speaking with someone outside Dane’s Refuge.” He pointed to the tavern. The elf was indeed found conversing with a man clad in black-studded armour. “Serious looking fellow. I wonder what they’re talking about.”

She couldn't stop herself from feeling curious as well. The conversation seemed to have taken quite the lively turn, and she could make out the faint lines of frustration from the Warden's face. Unfortunately, they were still too far away to make out what they were saying. She thought for a second.

“Hmm, maybe they know each other. A friend even,” Leliana spoke with a mischevious glint in her eyes. “Or _maybe,_ she’s catching up with an old lover before we set off.”

“Really?”

“No,” Leliana said flatly. Alistair gave a short laugh, and shook his head. “They don’t look too friendly anyway.” 

That was true, as a few minutes later, the Warden walked back to them with a small scowl. Her eyes were dark and filled with an irritated look, as the white strands of her hair blew across her face.

“Trouble?” asked Alistair.

She gave a quick dismissing wave of her hand. “Just an old acquaintance of mine back when I was with the Blackstone Irregulars. He refused to tell me what he was doing here.” She walked on ahead and led the group out of Lothering, looking concerned. 

“You were an Irregular?” Leliana asked. Very rarely did the band of mercenaries travel beyond the southern borders, but she had come across them a few times during her life in Orlais. They had a network of people all over the continent, but mostly operated in Ferelden.

“It was a long time ago,” she said offhandedly. “The job made decent coin, and I was good at what they did, for a while. But after a new leader stepped up, he and I had a disagreement of sorts. Long story short, there was a falling out, I left, and that was that.”

“What sort of disagreement?” 

An annoyed look grew upon her face. “A disagreement,” she said curtly.

Leliana ducked her head, ready to let the questions drop and apologize, but then the elf sighed. 

“All you need to know is that I didn’t concur with the way things were being done under his leadership. We never shied away from illegal work before, but let’s just say that things...started to get out of hand. I’m no saint, but that line of work only brought more trouble for me and my family,” she said. There was a haunted look in her eyes.

Leliana understood. She, more than anyone, understood wishing to leave a toxic environment. But something had happened. She did wonder why Carmen became a Grey Wardens were. Was it duty? Honour? Leliana had heard of the city elves of Denerim and how they were treated. Perhaps the young woman joined to escape that life.

“I'd rather not talk about it. What about you?” Carmen suddenly asked. “What was someone like you doing in a cloister?”

The group was far from the gates of Lothering now, and the sun had started to set. The question almost caught her off-guard, but luckily she had already prepared answers long before joining them. Not lies, but half-truths. It was enough to satisfy most people.

“What is meant by ‘someone like me’?” she deliberately stalled. If it was one thing Leliana learned, it was that you never gave away your full explanation away in one answer. It would be considered suspect otherwise. No one could conjure such a detailed response after only one question.

“You mentioned you had a life before the Chantry?” Carmen hummed in thought. “Unless they’ve been teaching initiates how to fight, then I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sister do what you did earlier.”

Leliana replied smoothly, “I am only a lay sister. Or I was. Before the Chantry, I was a traveling minstrel in Orlais. I performed tales and songs, earning coin along the way.”

“And your skill in battle?”

She paused, having hoped that the Warden wouldn’t bring that up. “Well, you pick up different skills on the road, yes? Yes _, of course_.” 

The words were spoken quickly. Too rushed perhaps, as Carmen picked up on the nervous undertone and narrowed her eyes. It was sloppy, and she mentally kicked herself for nearly stumbling so easily. Fortunately, the elf didn’t grill her about it and graciously accepted her answer. 

The group continued on the path to Redcliffe with good pace, and Leliana decided to change the subject. “What you did back there with Loghain’s soldier with your spear. Your precision is impressive. I’m glad you showed mercy.” 

The Warden gave her an odd look. “I did not show anything. The spear was thrown, and I let the gods decide his fate,” she said matter-of-factly, and continued to walk ahead, leaving Leliana to ponder on her words.

Alistair gave her a shrug, and picked up his pace to catch up with the other Warden.

* * *

If you rode your horse past the red-roofed barn, where daylight shuttered through the wood planks, you’d not guessed what lay just up the druffalo path out of sight into the woods. You wouldn’t know that bones laid on the moss beside the dried creek bed, past the field of ferns. That black blood passed down by sinners of an age long forgotten withered the very flowers it touched. 

Carmen shivered at the cool breeze that funneled through the plains of the Hinterlands. 

But then, something halted her and made her perk up, like a shark smelling fresh blood. She looked over to Alistair, and he felt it as well, giving her a knowing nod.

First, there was the song. The uncomfortable tingling at the back of the base of the skull. It was a song not meant for mortal ears. The notes were all wrong. Like a minor chord, but the instrument hadn’t been tuned in ages, and as if the notes trailed from the canyons of the abyss itself. Next, there was the smell. Of rotten meat and decaying bone. Of puss oozing from a wound. The actual sound that came from them were horrid, like an injured antelope screaming in agony, but as if it was heard backwards, if that was even possible. Her ears twitched.

_How do I already know what is out there?_

Even from here, Carmen could practically feel her own blood boiling and pulsating towards them in a twisted sense of comradery, seeking to be bonded to whatever hivemind they had. It took every inch of her mental strength to drown out the noise, but she quickly realized it was futile. She took a deep breath and unsheathed her spear. _Time to face the music,_ she thought grimly.

“Ready your weapons,” she said to her companions.

There were only seven of them. Monstrous, gnarly, wicked beasts. She expected far more than just seven. The song that rang inside her head made it seem like there were dozens of them. Carmen couldn’t help but be reminded of Hahren and his tale of wolves. How their howls overlayed with each other and shifted in tone to give off the impression that there were more wolves than there really were.

She raised her shield to block a thrown axe, the weapon bouncing off the convex metal with a loud pang. 

As the darkspawn rushed them, Carmen called back to everyone except Alistair. “Careful with their blood! It's deadly!”

A spell from Morrigan was already being conjured, heatwaves softly kissing her skin before a large fireball engulfed several of the darkspawn. All the while, arrows from afar rained down upon the panicked flock, finishing them off. 

Carmen kept her shield up, thrusting her spear at any that were foolish enough to approach her. Alistair charged against a hurlock, with Leliana close behind to cover him. However, three stragglers appeared from the left about to flank them, and her eyes widened.

“Watch out!” 

But it was too late. A thrown dagger slipped through the cracks of Alistair’s armour, and embedded itself into the back of his shoulder blades. He hollered out in pain, dropping to the ground. Before the other hurlock could end his life, Carmen threw her spear and watched it soar through the air, piercing it in the monster’s chest. 

She rushed to his side, inspecting the wound. “You okay?”

Alistair nodded frantically. He tried to get up, but fell back onto his knees, slightly out of breath and fatigued from the weight of his armour.

A scream snapped their attention towards a towering ogre that had pressed Leliana against the ground with its claws, its roar shaking the very earth. A moment longer, and the sister would be crushed by its indomitable strength, so they needed to act fast.

Pulling out her sword, she faced Alistair. “Hold up your shield.”

“What?”

“Just hold your shield upwards, now!” she commanded, miming the motion. 

He did as ordered, and faced his shield towards the sky, still kneeling as he was. Carmen took a few steps back, then started running. She ran until she jumped high enough that she propelled herself off of Alistair’s shield, and onto the ogre’s wide shoulders. From there, she dug her sword deep into its purple flesh, and it howled in pain, letting Leliana go as it reached for the elf on its back. The shock of the pain caused it to stumble backwards, and Carmen summoned all her muscle to hang on, all while she dragged the blade down its back, exposing bone and marrow. 

But very soon, even her heightened stamina gave away, and the large beast shook her off with such force, Carmen bounced twice when she hit the dirt ground. Enraged and out of control, it slammed its fist down to her back, sending a terrible surge of pain to shake through her body. 

Before it could strike again and break her spine, dozens of flying ice shards pierced the ogre, stunning and slowing its movements. Sten, taking his chance while it was still dazed, lunged with such impressive speed for a man his size. He swung his greatsword downwards and cut into the monster's forehead, effectively ending its life. The rest of the stragglers were finished off by Morrigan and Blue. Only the vague aftershocks of her magic through the air lingered after the battle.

Carmen got up with a groan, touching the back of one of her shoulders with a wince.

“That was astronomically stupid of you,” scolded Morrigan, brushing some dirt off her tunic. 

Alistair, for once, agreed with the mage. “It was. Just what were you thinking?”

Her eyes sparked with anger. “Well I wouldn’t have had to do that if you didn’t rush on ahead, all while forgetting the ogre making its way towards you and the sister! Maybe next time, don’t break formation.”

He threw his hands in the air exasperatedly. “What formation?”

“Exactly!”

Leliana rejoined with the group, still breathing but a little worse for wear, and stepped between the two Wardens. “It’s fine. Everyone’s still alive, yes? There’s no need to argue.”

“The junior Warden’s attack was a calculated maneuver,” said Sten, his support surprising everyone. “But she is very bad at calculations.” _And there it was._

Alistair sighed. “I guess that makes two of us.”

“Fair enou-wait, you hear that?” Carmen tilted her head at an angle to listen. Alistair did the same, but heard nothing. They scanned the area, but found nothing but a large, abandoned carriage and the remains of the darkspawn they just slew.

She went over to the body that still had her spear and returned it to her back. Another rustle caught her ears, and Carmen was able to pick up a whisper coming from above. This time, she was sure she wasn't just imagining things. Her head turned towards a tree. 

“Who's there?” she called. No answer. 

The group looked up at the tree as well, but spotted no one. To anyone else, it might've just been the wind. But she heard it clearly. Her ears never betrayed her before, and Carmen had learned to trust it. Her hearing had saved her life many times in the past, and she would sooner trust them over any signs of a deity.

“Gonna take a look about. The rest of you stay down here.” She wasn't sure if stealth was a concept the darkspawn knew, but there were just so many nasty surprises lately, that she didn't dare want to risk finding out. The last thing Carmen needed was darkspawn trailing them in secret, or bandits that waited to slit their throats in their sleep. Even if the absence of the song of the taint had long since quieted in her mind, effectively eliminating any possibility of remaining darkspawn in the area, her paranoia refused to let up. Besides, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Alistair looked uncertain, however. “You sure that's a good idea? It's probably just an animal.”

“Animals don't whisper to one another.”

Grabbing hold of the trunk, Carmen hoisted herself up the large tree, putting a foot over a branch. It didn't take long before she was high above the ground, not at a height that could actually break any bones should she fall, but just about.

Morrigan yelled harshly from below, “Don't get killed up there!”

Carmen rolled her eyes with a smile. “Thanks, Morrigan,” she called back dryly.

When she reached the top of the tree, brushing away the leaves, the whispers got louder. At this point, she fully expected bandits to spring from behind the leaves and lunge at her. So imagine her surprise when she was greeted with two dwarves, clinging to a large tree branch, who looked absolutely terrified and just as surprised as she was. _Well then._

After explaining that the two were attacked by the darkspawn and were forced to hide up into the trees, they came back down and introduced themselves. Bodahn Feddic, was his name. A merchant and entrepreneur, along with his son, Sandal. The two dwarves agreed to come along and let their carriage be used, in return for saving their lives. Carmen supposed traveling with a Grey Warden was the safest one could be while on the road anyhow, despite how utterly contradictory that sounded considering current events. But she was just glad that they didn’t have to carry their supplies on their backs anymore. Especially with all the walking they would have to do. 

Once the sun disappeared into the horizon, the party found a small clearing west of Elstead. Carmen surmised it would only take them just a few more days before they reached Redcliffe, but after the recent battle, some rest was called for. After the tents were set, a fire was started for the dinner. Morrigan had opted to make her own camp far from the others, all with her own little fire. The woman liked her privacy, and one could hardly blame her.

Alistair volunteered to cook. The group would soon realize what a mistake that would be. 

Leliana didn’t seem like she had the heart to tell him, and Carmen herself had heard of her fair share of strange food. Like the Orlesians and their escargots, cow tongues, and fried eels. Honestly, she was pretty sure most dishes from Orlesian cuisine were based on a dare. After a few spoons of exquisite Fereldan stew, she made the decision to forbid him from going anywhere near cooking ever again.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” he asked sheepishly.

Carmen looked him in the eyes seriously. “Believe me, it tastes better coming up than it does going down,” she teased.

“Ouch! You wound me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not as much as food poisoning would. Now scooch!” She waved him away from the pot with a smile, and tried her luck with it.

A pile of vegetables were stacked in one corner, her hands quick to cut them as she brushed them into a bucket of hot water with a swift slide of the knife. The makeshift board was covered with the remains of chopped carrots, crunched herbs, and finely sliced slabs of meat. Carmen cracked the eggs against the wood, letting their yellow hearts drip out of their shells. The fire hissed as she stirred the soup, feeling the tinge of spice nestle deep into her nose until there was a small urge to sneeze. 

After a long day, there was nothing better to get someone back on their feet than an omelette and some flavoured lamb soup. It was simple, but sufficed to keep starvation away.

“Mmm, I didn’t know you could cook,” said Alistair with his mouth full.

“Taught from the best woman I knew,” she said with a hint of sadness. Carmen poured some for herself too and took a seat on a log. Throwing a piece of meat to Blue, she watched with an amused smile as he carried it to his ‘spot’, ravaging it as if he hunted the animal himself.

Leliana smiled at her warmly. “You must share some of your recipes one day.”

Carmen nodded, missing those cold winter nights where her family's cabin would be filled with the smell of a mother's home-cooked stew. “Where I come from, cooking and eating with others was often a temporary escape. With how rare a proper meal can be in the alienage, you learned to make the most out of what you had.” She finished her plate and looked away wistfully. “Endure and survive…”

After dinner, the rest of the companions turned in for the night, and it was just the three of them that remained. The smoke of the bonfire rose through the air and into the cloudy night sky, and she was reminded of a beacon left unanswered at a night just like this one. Carmen reached for a second dish, but hesitated. Guilt and shame closed in on her like jaws. How dare she went for seconds? It was almost rude, imprudent even. Like she didn’t deserve it. Here she was, finally having a decent meal after a week. Meanwhile, her family back home passed the night with another batch of stale bread, if she had to guess.

Suddenly, Carmen found that she no longer had an appetite. So she excused herself for the night, and went to her bedroll, feeling the weight of her shoulders grow so heavy, it left her sore. She let sleep take her away from her troubles, if only for a few more hours. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're finally out of Lothering. The next stop: Redcliffe.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	10. L'appel du Vide

When a Grey Warden dreamt, it was never _just a dream._

Carmen had woken up drenched in a cold sweat and shortness of breath. Her heart raced with the urgency of a fleeing deer. The remnants of the nightmare still clutched at her throat, and she remembered the image clearly now. It was a terrible beast, a dragon, with an uncanny voice and wings black as night. It was the same creature in her dream after the Joining. But this time, it saw her. She was sure of it. It saw her, felt her presence, and picked up on the glaring smell of her fear. Indubitably, it was her fear that alerted her presence. An emotion and state of being that was simply just so painfully _mortal,_ it embarrassed her. 

Her eyes darted around the camp. The fire had been put out to avoid enemies from potentially spotting them from the smoke. All was dark, as if the night sky engulfed the very lands in a velvet blanket. But in a sense, it was comforting all the same. 

From the side, she spotted Alistair gazing at her. When he saw that she was aware of his presence, he carefully approached her.

“Bad dreams?” Her nod confirmed his prediction. “Yeah, they were scary for me too. Part of being a Grey Warden is being able to hear the darkspawn. That’s what your dream was.”

Carmen got up and rubbed her hands to warm them. Her breath was visible in the air, and she shook where she stood. “I...I saw something. A dragon.”

“The archdemon,” he said. “It ‘talks’ to the horde, and we feel it just as they do. It’s difficult in the beginning, but eventually, you can block the dreams out. The older Grey Wardens say they can even understand the archdemon.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, I’m glad you told me. Learning that it’s normal is the most relieving thing I’ve heard in weeks.”

Alistair smiled brightly. “That’s what I’m here for! To deliver unpleasant news and witty one-liners.”

Carmen would never tell him, but she appreciated his jokes. Make no mistake, sometimes they were genuinely awful and groan-worthy, yet somehow endearing. They were brief and temporary moments of levity that distracted the both of them from the daunting task that was stopping the Blight. She needed them, just as much as he did. Otherwise, they would go insane. A person could only bear so much at a time, and the line between laughing and sobbing were always blurred during these dark hours. 

“Any other nasty surprises I should know?” She had to know, even if she would regret it. Even if her mind screamed at her that ignorance was bliss, and that the curse of knowledge came with it the inevitability of having to accept her reality. She needed to know, and Alistair understood. 

So he told her everything he knew. He told her, all of it in his nonchalant way at first. But then he gradually grew serious. It was that very night in which Carmen was told something no twenty year old girl should have to hear so soon. 

“How long?”

He didn’t answer, and looked at her with sad eyes.

“Alistair. How long?” she asked again, face pleading this time. 

He finally relented, wincing as he did. “Thirty years, give or take.”

Carmen blinked emotionlessly. Her stomach dropped at the words. She wasn’t sure she heard him right, but his voice was so uncharacteristically solemn, there was no doubt about it. It wasn’t as if she expected anything good would come out of being a Grey Warden. After drinking literal darkspawn blood, it was hard to believe that any of it _wasn’t_ going to be a recipe for disaster and an accident just waiting to happen. But deep down, Carmen wished she’d gotten something out of it that made everything that had happened thus far worth it. 

A shaky laugh escaped her, and Alistair looked like he was cross between feeling pity and worried.

What a sick joke. That the only other person left alive that truly understood what she was going through was a human man just as young and clueless as she was, and through their severed hands, they had to stitch back together the world, all without absolution. 

Would it ever end? The bruise of being? Carmen rubbed her eyes, wishing nothing more than to lie down. Did it bother her that as her people were being subjugated, an elf was yet again asked to save a world, tainted by the ancestors of the very same humans who would gladly continue the vicious cycle? No. But it all did seem like a poorly done jest, and she was still waiting for the punchline that wouldn’t come until she was on her knees, begging for it. That’s what they wanted, after all. What they _needed_. They needed her kind down in the dirt. Because otherwise, how could they stay clean? 

_Mother, we were made for the flies._

The archdemon was coming, Loghain’s men hunted them, the barest form of credibility that separated her and Alistair from being Wardens to worthless commoners were wrinkled pieces of paper, signed by men centuries ago with ink that already started to fade, and what did the Maker do? He sent her a lay sister. One that claimed she followed His will, spawned from a dream alone.

Truly, it had to be an insult. 

“Hmm, guess Duncan planned to tell us all this _after_ the Joining as well?” she clipped. Alistair opened his mouth before being cut off. "Yes, yes, I know. No one would join the grey losers if everyone knew you had to get wasted in darkspawn blood. I remember,” she said, scowling at the ground.

“I'm sorry.”

Carmen waved her hand, forcing a thin smile. “It's fine, Alistair. My fate was already sealed the moment I killed those men.”

He looked confused. “Loghain’s men?”

But she shook her head. “Not them. Did you think they were the first men I killed in cold blood?” 

Something about her expression made him freeze. 

“You know, looking back, I can’t help but think that something happened between you and Duncan. The two of you always seemed a bit...stiff together, even before the Joining. At least from what I saw during our time at Ostagar,” he added.

Carmen always knew he was smarter than he looked, and his observations were a pleasant surprise. 

“You would be right. I know you want to know more, but I’m just not ready yet. One day, perhaps,” she said, giving him a wan smile. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry about Duncan. I know you cared about him a great deal.”

Alistair didn’t respond right away, looking away with a furrow to his brows. Finally, he sighed regretfully with a small shrug. “No Grey Warden dies in their own bed. He knew the risks, and so did I.” 

The two of them circled the perimeter of the camp, keeping their ears open for any danger. 

He spoke up again, “Maybe when this is all over, _if_ we even survive by the end of this, there might be time for a proper funeral for him. I’d like to honour him in some way. He deserved that much,” he said, scratching the back of his head, looking depressed. “I don’t even know if he had any family.”

“He had you,” she said with such certainty, no man could ever have any doubts. 

“Hmm, perhaps you're right.” His voice was low, so low it could’ve been a whisper. “But I'm getting ahead of myself. I've had enough doom and gloom to last one night. We’ve got quite the group so far, haven’t we?” he chuckled, trying to change the subject. “Like that witch, Morrigan. What is _she_ up to?”

Carmen crossed her arms. “Never took you for the gossiping type.” 

Alistair smiled wickedly. Or at the very least, tried his best attempt at one. “I got this nefarious plan to go around to each of them and secretly tell them all the nasty things you said. That way they’ll mutiny and I shall become group leader!” He laughed evilly. “No but seriously though. Do you trust her? Maybe Flemeth sent her with us for some other reason.”

She smirked. “Ya really don’t like each other, huh?”

“Aside from the fact that she’s a complete and utter bitch? No, not really,” he said with a deadpan expression. “Leliana’s a lot kinder, easier to talk to. But even she’s a bit...” He trailed off, looking guilty. “I mean, that dream of hers...or vision, can you really believe that?”

Carmen hesitated, trying to find the right words. Honestly, she didn’t trust Leliana at all. Oh, Carmen knew her kind. The type that always had a plastered smile on, but who knew what went on inside their head when everyone else looked away. Nothing about Leliana felt genuine thus far, but perhaps she was judging her too harshly. Who was she to say Leliana didn’t have a vision?

“Hmm,” she started, “I believe...that she believes in her vision.”

Alistair snorted. “Well, that’s one way of seeing it. But I don’t know, visions from the Maker seem a little out there.”

She raised a brow. _“That’s_ out there for you? Don’t we get visions too, mate? You know, the whole ‘archdemon speaking to us in our dreams’ shtick. Far as I’m concerned, neither of us has a leg up on who’s the most insane.”

He opened his mouth and raised a finger to protest, but promptly closed it after a few seconds. “That’s...hmm, point taken.”

“Oh, but I suppose there’s a stark difference between having a god speaking to you as opposed to a living, demonic dragon,” Carmen thought out loud sarcastically. “Either way, they’re both gods, and to be frank, I’m tired of gods.”

“Well, you definitely took it better than I did the first time Duncan told me.”

Indeed, it was a dilemma that would keep her up for many nights to come. Quite literally, if the supposed nightmares weren’t going to go away any time soon. 

With still a couple of hours before morning, Alistair turned in for the night, waking the next person up for night watch. Carmen decided to stay up, for she had no intention of falling back to sleep. It was too soon. Perhaps a night run would serve to distract her mind, but she thought better of it, as her armour would make too much noise. Besides, it would be unwise to leave camp without bringing anything with her, even if she didn’t intend to stray too far from camp. 

So instead, she continued to stroll around the camp, watching as Leliana got up from her bedroll to take Alistair’s shift. Carmen took a look at her. _Really_ looked at her properly, now that nothing was trying to kill them.

Leliana had her bow strung over her back, and ever since they left Lothering, she had donned a light armour. Despite how lovely the sight of Chantry robes drenched in blood was, it obviously didn’t offer much in the way of protection. The armour was a contrast of dark leather and red fabric, with silver scales wrapped around her abdomen, and a balteus to the waist that exposed the sides of her thighs. Her right arm bore a leather manica; a segmented arm guard common in archers. It suited her well, but the arsenal was the last thing Carmen expected a lay sister would be hiding in her dresser.

She perplexed her. Surely, no one that was sound in the head would join the Wardens’ suicide quest, Maker’s word or no. Carmen remembered the way Leliana flinched everytime she brought up her curious skill in battle. She would dodge and deflect, and did a poor job at hiding at that. It was a funny thing the woman did, playing with that small, auburn braid of hers.

She must've caught her staring, however, because Leliana turned to look at her inquisitively. 

“Warden?” the sister exclaimed. “Your eyes...do they always glow like that?” Leliana gazed in wonder, not quite frightened, but a little unnerved. 

Carmen cocked her head, confused by what she meant. But then she remembered it was dusk and that their bonfire was a poor source of light.

“Oh. Why yes, of course.” She crossed her arms behind her back and smiled amusingly. “Forgive me, I sometimes forget. But there’s no need to be spooked.” Carmen rubbed one of her eyelids casually to assure her that soft glow of her eyes was natural. “See? Nothin' to be worried about.” 

Leliana felt more confident to approach now that she had grown curious. “I imagine that is why elves can see so well.” She thought for a moment, before she asked, "Did you always live in an alienage? I hear life there is hard.” Her face turned sympathetic. “In Orlais, elves are highly valued by the nobility. They are nimble and dexterous, and many people find them pleasing to look at.” 

Carmen wasn't exactly sure why she was being told these things, perhaps an attempt at small talk to fill the silence. Nevertheless, the knowledge of what Orlesian nobles would find appealing about her body was the last place her mind wanted to be after that sour conversation with Alistair. As the lay sister went on about the elves, and how well they were compensated for their servitude, Carmen’s shoulders drooped. She grimaced, poking a tongue against a cheek while exhaling.

“Slaves, then?” she asked apprehensively.

Leliana paused. “They are serfs, there is no slavery in Orlais.”

Carmen ducked her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That just another word for prize-winning animal?”

“No, I did not mean it that way!” she panicked.

“If our kind is as inferior to human Fereldans as it is to the Orlesians, then we both know it's either lick the boots of some Marquis or end up on the streets. Same lifestyle, different architecture to look at.” Carmen waved offhandedly with a pained smile. “Perhaps I should offer myself to an aristocrat then?”

Her eyes widened. “What, no!” Leliana sighed, her eyes closing. “My words were clumsily chosen. I did not mean to offend. I…”

Carmen tugged at her collar as she experienced the familiar feeling of her heart sinking. It happened everytime. Everytime she met someone new who was a human, the gods would flip a coin. It was a feeling she wasn’t surprised with, but the disappointment that followed with it was tiring. She didn’t blame Leliana for being prejudiced, couldn't summon the energy to be angry. Not when it was just an ignorant woman with good intentions. You didn't hold a grudge at someone who had been fed that kind of mentality their whole lives. But it still made her want to cry out, _'Not you_ _too’._ Now she just wished she had kept her mouth shut. 

“You might not be cruel,” Carmen said somberly, “but you still see us differently.”

“I...I did not realize that. I am sorry. It is so strange, how long-held beliefs just seem natural and...right. Like there is no other way to feel.”

 _Wait, she was apologizing?_ She had to have heard that wrong, surely. 

“Thank you,” Leliana said, the words so genuine it caught her off guard. “You have given me a lot to think about.”

Carmen looked at her curiously. Truth be told, those were the last words she had expected to hear. What she was fully prepared for was hostile resistance and biting remarks. But the oddest thing was that they never came. Instead, she was greeted with nothing but...humility. Carmen didn’t understand. That had to be a first, and it made the woman an anomaly, one that confused the living daylights out of her. So much of what she heard today only served to hurt her head.

“Why did you come?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Leliana stared blankly at first, before she understood the question. “Because the Maker told me to.”

“Yes, but why?” Carmen pressed, bemused. “Dreams don't make people throw their lives into danger.” Not unless you were a fool. 

“I…” Leliana wavered at first, but slowly exhaled a shaky breath. “In my dream, I saw such horrible things. There was a great darkness that encompassed the earth, so dense that I felt its pull. From above, I watched it consume everything in a riptide.” She shuddered. “I don’t know how to explain, but there was a voice, one that urged me on to jump. And I think I did. Either I fell, or I jumped, I don’t remember.” 

Carmen listened attentively, not wishing to interrupt. But if she had to guess from the vague details, then the dream must’ve been about the Blight. 

“But that wasn’t why I wanted to join,” Leliana said, and her look became distant. “When I awoke, I went to the Chantry’s gardens, as I always did. We had a rosebush, one that was long dead, and it would’ve been impossible for it to have bloomed. Everyone knew this. It was grey, and twisted, and gnarled. The ugliest thing you ever saw! But there it was; a single, beautiful rose. It was as though the Maker stretched out His hand and said, ‘Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty’.” Leliana smiled wistfully, closing her eyes. “ _‘Have faith’._ ”

The painful truth was that Carmen wanted to believe. The deep-seated and intense feeling of _desire_ to believe, but the incapability to do so, was the greatest path of strife she willingly took. She wanted to believe the Maker still cared, and that He wasn’t just stringing her along like a puppet. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t. Not after everything that’s happened. All she could feel was a bitter resentment for a father figure that no longer cared for His children anymore, if He ever did.

“I wish I had your conviction,” she said ruefully.

Leliana’s face fell slightly. “Do you not believe in hope? In miracles?”

She wanted to scoff. “ _Miracles,_ ” she spat, as if the word itself was cursed. “Miracles are for those blessed enough to feel the warm embrace of a god who has been nothing but an absentee landlord. And trust me, there hasn’t been a world filled with people more damned than this one.” The words came out harsher than she wanted them to, but she didn’t regret saying them.

Carmen sighed tiredly. “Believe what you feel is right, sister. I wouldn’t dare wish to take away something you hold so dear. But I must pray that you forgive me if I come across to you as a misbeliever.”

Leliana studied her in silence for a long moment, deep in her own world of thought. She wondered about her wondering. If Carmen could live a day as a woman with so much faith, her heart was bursting with it, then she would lay down her arms for a taste of the sweet euphoria of it without looking back. But alas, it could never be so. They were two separate worlds, and would always be, forevermore.

Finally, Leliana spoke, “Maybe...” She turned away to look at the stars. “...maybe you just haven’t seen your rose bloom yet.” Her voice was gentle, tinged with melancholic optimism.

Carmen shifted her eyes to the stars as well, staring longingly, but did not reply. Instead, she let the words be carried away by the wind, so that they might one day find themselves upon another soul of a weary traveller who still had the will to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little down time with our friends.  
> It's stated on the Dragon Age wiki that city elves are forced to renounce their beliefs to the elven pantheon, and become Andrastian. Although, some still practiced their traditions in secret. That was what I loved about the city elf, and how the Chantry's forced indoctrination has left them alienated to their former elven culture, but at the same time, not being able to fully connect with Andrastian culture either. 
> 
> I juggled between having a Tabris who believed in the Maker vs one who didn't. However, I've never tried writing a character who did believe in the Maker, but at the same time, was filled with resentment for said figure. It was something I never thought about before, and I feel like it would be unique to a city elf especially due to their upbringing. This clash of views between her and Leliana was too interesting to pass up writing.
> 
> Anyway, I'll shut up now. Thank you for reading.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	11. A Red Cliff

“I’m a bastard. My father was King Maric, and Arl Eamon raised me until I was eventually left at the Chantry.”

There went her eyebrows again, reaching for her hairline, as he confessed his secret before they entered Redcliffe.

Carmen stared silently at Alistair, letting the words digest for a minute. But if Alistair was the son of Maric, which also made him the late King Cailan’s half-brother, and if her very basic knowledge of how hierarchies worked in the Fereldan kingdom wasn’t hogwash, then didn’t that make him the heir to the throne?

She blew a low whistle at the sudden revelation. “That’s an awful lie. It must be true.”

Alistair fiddled with his thumbs. “I just wanted to tell you this before we met Arl Eamon. Didn’t want it to be a surprise to you, as I figured it’d be brought up sooner or later.”

“So let me get this right. You’re not just a bastard, but a royal bastard.” Carmen looked him seriously in the eyes, putting a hand on his shoulder. “That’s rough, mate.” 

He laughed nervously. “I’m sorry I put off from telling you this before. It’s just that I was worried you’d treat me differently. Everyone who knew either resented me for it or coddled me. Even Duncan…” He shook his head and spoke softly but sternly. “I’m just...I’m just Alistair.” He averted his eyes so that he was looking anywhere but her, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, Redcliffe…” he gestured to the town below them. “Nice view isn’t it?” 

Alistair’s change in subject had the subtlety of a punch in the face, and she could do nothing but shake her head with a chuckle. 

“Indeed it is, my prince,” she teased. 

He groaned. “Oh no, this is what I was afraid of!” 

Carmen laughed and clapped him on the back. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll have you know that I won’t ever kneel before a human. A sloppy curtsy is as far as I’m going, so you’ll have to make do with that,” she said with a wink. “Besides, Grey Wardens don’t hold any titles, from what I’ve heard.”

Alistair nodded eagerly. “Yes, well, if this whole saving the world and Grey Warden-ing doesn’t work out, we could always join the circus.”

“Good idea. We already got the clown gig down pretty well.”

* * *

“Greetings, friends. My name is Teagan, Bann of Rainesfere, brother to the arl.”

Alistair stepped forward. “I remember you. Though, the last time we met, I was a lot younger...and covered in mud,” he said sheepishly. 

The man paused. “Covered in...wait, Alistair? It _is_ you! You’re alive! This is wonderful news!” he exclaimed, smiling at the familiar face.

“Still alive, yes. She and I are the last living Grey Wardens, thanks to Loghain.” Alistair gestured between him and Carmen. 

“Indeed.” Teagan turned serious. “He would have us believe all Wardens died along with our nephew.” 

Carmen perked up at his words. “You don’t believe him?”

“What, that he pulled his men in order to save them? That Cailan risked everything in the name of glory?” He scoffed. “Hardly. Loghain calls the Grey Wardens traitors, murderers of the king. I don’t believe a single word out of that desperate man.” 

That was certainly a pleasant surprise to hear. It was always refreshing to meet a man who didn’t believe in everything he was told and could think for himself. An unfortunately rare thing to come by during times of great political division and strife.

“So you are a Grey Warden as well?” Teagan gave her an easy smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you, though, I wish it was under better circumstances.” His smile turned somber. “If you are here to see my brother, I’m afraid I must disappoint. You see, Eamon is gravely ill.”

“Ill?” Alistair frowned with concern. “What do you mean ill?”

“No one has heard from the castle in days,” explained Teagan. “And that brings me to the problem at hand. There are...monsters coming from the castle.” At the confused expressions of the group, he elaborated. “The attacks started a few nights ago. These...ghouls...started coming from the castle. We drove them back, but many of us have perished. At this rate, I don’t think we can survive another assault,” he said grimly. 

“Ghouls?” she asked.

“Some call them the walking dead; cannibalistic, decomposing corpses returned to life. With the king deceased, and Loghain starting a civil war as we speak, no one is able to respond to our urgent calls for help.” He sighed frustratingly. “Alistair, I hate to ask, but I desperately need the help of you and your friends. My gut tells me that tonight’s assault will be the worst we’ll face yet.”

Alistair responded without hesitation. “Of course we’ll help, Teagan.” He turned to Carmen, eyes pleading. “Won’t we?”

Carmen was uncertain if this was the best course of action to take, but a friend of Alistair's was a friend of hers. So she nodded. “Of course.” They needed Arl Eamon as well, so they couldn’t have Redcliffe fall now. 

“ _Thank you,_ ” said Teagan. “You have my eternal gratitude for this, I mean it. We have until nightfall to prepare. I’ve already stationed several men in charge of defense outside. Murdock, who is outside the chantry, and Ser Perth, just up the cliff at the windmill. Speak with them for preparations.”

Now, getting the people of Redcliffe to even listen to her proved to be a much more daunting task. The civilians were disorganized, weapons were low with the blacksmith all but refusing to help, and the soldiers had little morale to spare for an elf. So low their numbers were, that the Mayor had even resorted to arming the civilians themselves, despite their complete and utter lack of any experience in battle. Many didn't even know how to wield a sword properly. 

Sten walked up to her. “Warden, a word.”

Carmen nodded in his direction. “What can I help you with, Sten?”

“There are no darkspawn here, and nothing to gain. It is a fool’s errand. I suggest we leave,” he said bluntly. 

“Sten-”

“I agree,” said Morrigan. “This task is pointless. You are helping these villagers fight an impossible battle. One would think we had enough to contend with elsewhere.”

Alistair huffed. “So you would _leave?_ What about our plan to get Arl Eamon’s help?”

“Our plan was never to come and defend this village,” Sten countered smoothly. 

Carmen rubbed her forehead, the faintest signs of a headache already starting to emerge from the argument. 

She had to admit, Sten and Morrigan had a valid point. There was a Blight, and they were already behind schedule. Who knew when the archdemon would show itself. Yet, as logical as these assessments were, Carmen couldn't push back the reprimanding voice at the back of her mind. A voice that was ready to carve the words ' _hypocrite'_ into her skin like a brand. She found herself unable to leave the village to their dark fate, even if a twisted part of herself wished for these clueless humans to feel just what it was like to be abandoned and helpless. To plead for help, only to be answered with a defeaning silence. Carmen knew that feeling much too well for her liking, and she wouldn't give the ghost of a man she loathed the satisfaction of being just like him.

“We need Arl Eamon,” she said, leveling her voice. “He’s the only one who can stand against Loghain, at least politically. Saving Redcliffe could get him more inclined to help us when we eventually speak with him.” 

“Yes, because the Blight isn't a sufficient reason for him to help us.” Morrigan made an annoyed look, rolling her eyes. “These ghoul attacks are the result of the dark arts, and someone is most definitely behind them. Apparently, that someone seemed to think _now_ is the best time to rouse chaos.”

“But we can’t just leave them,” protested Leliana. “They-”

“They are weak. If they can’t even protect themselves, what good will they be to us?” 

“Even the strong can be killed when put in a compromising position,” said Carmen. “We are staying to help.” She spoke with such finality that it was clear nothing would change her mind now.

Morrigan sighed. “‘Tis madness…”

It most certainly was, there was no denying that. But so was their quest to begin with. 

Hours later, Alistair and Sten were able to properly arm the soldiers with adequate weapons after they finally convinced the blacksmith to start forging again, courtesy of Leliana. If they were all to perish tonight, they would at least die with finely made swords in their hands. However, it didn't take a genius to notice how unthrilled many of the villagers were at the prospect of fighting again, and with someone like her, no less. Skepticism was the common expression for the many who saw the points of her ears and the weapons on her back. They would sooner stay stubborn, much to her disappointment.

“Murdock, you’d have us fight beside this...elf?” cried one of the men.

“Has Teagan finally lost it?”

“What can two Grey Wardens do?!”

Several protests came forth from many others at that, and the Mayor's desperate attempts to calm the angry crowd proved futile. Other words could be heard demonizing Sten and Morrigan, and she cringed inwardly. Sten was as stoic as ever, seemingly unphased by the words. But Carmen feared the witch would set the village ablaze herself before the ghouls could even set foot past the gates, and quite frankly, she wouldn't blame her. An itch to do the same had crossed her minds several times over at this point.

Carmen pushed past the Mayor. 

“Enough!” she yelled. “You can all argue amongst yourselves when you’re five feet under the ground with nothing but your bones to show, because those _beasts_ will have picked you dry!” The words silenced the crowd, for she was done with hearing the opinions of the ignorant. “Or, you can fight. You can stare those monsters down and be proud to have the dignity to defend your home. Or would you watch your wives, mothers, and children be slaughtered, all because you refused to stand and fight beside an elf? Beside an apostate, or a qunari?” She gestured wildly to the two companions behind her.

The soldiers stayed silent, fidgeting with their weapons, with nothing but the soft creaking of their armours as a lame response. Her companions watched her closely. 

She paced slowly. “I know you’ve lost some folks, and you think you won’t survive the night. I know you wrinkle your noses when you see me walk amongst you. But you’d call yourselves Fereldans yet you quiver in the face of ghouls? I shudder to think how you would fare when the darkspawn inevitably comes.” Her voice became leveled, and her eyes hardened. “When the horde arrives, it won’t matter what you are or where you came from…” Carmen narrowed her eyes at the crowd squarely, shaking her head. “...because believe me, the darkspawn do not discriminate.”

Should any survive the battle and live long enough to see the sun rise again come morrow, they would have the displeasure of remembering her as someone who was stern and harsh. Cruel, even. They would be right, of course. Perhaps the village would soon finally live up to the name of Redcliffe, and the blades of grass would prove to be bloodier than the blades in their hands. Perhaps by the end of the night, this poor excuse of a speech would amount to nothing but two dead Wardens and a country that needed a thousand. 

But Carmen dared for them to hate her for it afterwards. Because at least then, they’d be alive to have the privilege to hate. 

“So prepare yourselves for the worst, gentlemen. You _will_ live through the night, if you’ve the stones for it.” It was a challenge, and they all knew it. She turned to the Mayor. “Murdock, ready your men. Have more traps set up near the borders, and before the battle commences, be sure that you have all the archers stationed on high ground.”

He nodded wordlessly, and they all went to work. If these lousy lots still couldn't put away their prejudice for one bloody night, then shit, maybe they deserved to get skewered after all. Tonight would determine history. Though, she doubted even the ghouls would have an apetite for the villagers' incurable disease that was brain rot. 

Carmen stepped away and back to her companions, pinching the bridge of her nose. They regarded her differently this time, a look she couldn't quite place at the moment.

Morrigan watched the soldiers with a hint of disdain and a shake of her head. “The bottomfeeders often fear what lurks above the waves,” she said to no one in particular. 

“Right then,” Carmen began, looking over the map of Redcliffe. “Sten, Alistiar, and I will lead the charge, while Morrigan and Leliana will fire from afar. Blue, stay with those two. You will position yourselves here, here, and-”

“Thank you,” cut in Morrigan with an eye roll. “But I believe we know how to form a circle.”

Carmen rubbed her temples tiredly. “I’m sorry, I'm just cranky from the sore shoulders of carrying these buffoons,” she snarked, before returning to a glib tone. “But I digress.”

A drink was what she needed after this was all said and done. Or several. Redcliffe better had a tavern that served ale with a quality fit for the kings, because what else was she fighting for here? Oh right, the people. Carmen huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. But she was getting ahead of herself now. The battle hadn’t even begun yet and she was already exhausted. This was insane, but she had always been one short of a marble.

Alistair pointed on the map. “Those ghouls will be coming through these gates.”

“Astute observation, Alistair. It is a wonder we can get by without your invaluable insight,” Morrigan drawled.

“You’re a bitch. How's that for an astute observation?”

This was going to be the third time that day that Carmen would have to pinch her nose with a silent groan, and she muttered a string of curses under her breath. 

“Can we please get through one battle without the two of you at each other’s throats?” she hissed through gritted teeth. 

Alistair and Morrigan only continued to glare at one another, while Carmen physically felt the dark circles forming under her eyes. How did they ever get into this disaster of a scenario in the first place? It was like getting invited to a party you didn't want to go to in the first place, and by the end of the night, everyone was already gone, leaving you to clean up the mess. 

“We still have a few hours before nightfall. Maybe we can rest up a bit first,” Leliana said diplomatically, before they could snipe at each other any further.

No arguments there. 

* * *

“Do you truly hate Alistair that much?” 

Morrigan arched an eyebrow at the Warden. “Hate? ‘Tis not so much as hate. Alistair and I simply have a mutual arrangement,” she said flippantly. “He rambles like a blowhard, I shower him with insults.”

She chuckled. “I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Morrigan began chopping onions and tossing them into the pot casually. 

“And what of you?” 

“Me?” Carmen paused to think about it. “Nah. I hate everyone just the same,” she said with a sly grin, easing into the log she was sitting on. 

Blue whined, and began pawing at her leg.

“Except for you,” she quickly added, giving his head a scratch. “You’re the best boy, and we’re thrilled to have you here.”

The mabari barked.

Morrigan, however, was reluctant to agree. “Speak for yourself. The mutt is an utter nuisance.” The witch turned to the mabari, glaring. “A putrid, half-eaten hare is not something a woman wants to find in her unmentionables!”

Carmen shrugged, sporting a nonchalant expression. “Can’t be smellier than what normally goes in 'em.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear you say that.”

Ever since she had met her in the Korcari Wilds, Morrigan had proved to be nothing but a powerful ally. But the conversation with Alistair the night before sprang up on her mind once more. Why _did_ Flemeth send her daughter to them? One could say that she was just sent to aid the Wardens. Or maybe it was out of the sweet kindness of her heart. Carmen snorted. She supposed a world on the verge of being consumed by the Blight affected everyone, even Witches of the Wilds. But she knew better.

“Did you always live in the Wilds?”

“For many years, 'twas simply just Flemeth and I. But in time, I did grow curious, and ventured out of the Wilds. Never for long, however. Brief forays into a civilized wilderness.”

Morrigan shook her head at herself. “I found most of it...overwhelming. There were so many nuances I had to learn; when to look into another’s eyes, how to eat at a table, how to bargain without offending…I did not understand any of it. I still don’t, truth be told.”

Carmen hummed in thought. “Was it hard growing up? Must've been lonely.”

She had moved on from cutting onions to celery leaves, sprinkling the little pieces into the stew with a shrug.

“I suppose it was.” Morrigan shrugged. “But over the years, I've found that it was fortunate to not belong in any civilization. There's a sense of liberty in not having to conform to the boxes people would like to put you in.”

And Carmen wondered if that was how the Dalish felt. Something she always envied them for, but never had the will to truly follow them into the forest without looking back. She still had a family back home. Invisible ribbons of sentimentality held her in place, tightly tied on her wrists, and she feared she didn't have the stomach to cut them. Even now, she longed to return to the alienage, to her father. But sometimes, Carmen wished she could be alone without feeling lonely. 

“I mentioned having left the Wilds on occasion.” Morrigan's voice had become soft. “I recall the first time I stumbled upon a strange town. I had crept in the shadows, watching the people from afar in animal form. I happened upon a carriage, and the owner was a noblewoman, adorned in sparkling garments, ribbons, and jewelry of which I’ve never seen before. At the time, that to me was what true wealth and beauty was.”

She continued, the faintest smile could be seen on her lips, if you squinted. “I was dazzled. And so, when the woman wasn’t looking, I stole a hand mirror from the carriage. ‘Twas encrusted in gold and crystalline gemstones, and I clutched it tightly to my chest with wild glee as I sped back to the Wilds!”

Carmen laughed. “Sounds like something you’d do. What happened next?” 

Morrigan’s smile disappeared, her eyes distant. “Mother was furious, for I had risked discovery for a pretty bauble. To teach me a lesson, Flemeth took the mirror and smashed it upon the ground. I was…” she trailed off, becoming uncharacteristically somber. 

“That was unkind,” said Carmen with a frown. “You were just a child.”

Morrigan sat up straighter. “And a foolish one,” she declared. “What Flemeth did was necessary. Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. _Power_ has meaning.”

She let the words seep into her mind, though for whatever reason, it didn't sit right with her. Maybe survival _was_ the only thing that mattered. Did life not also make such demands of her? Carmen looked at the woman before her, stirring the stew that would be their dinner for tonight, and felt an odd kinship between them borne from the life they had both led. Of course, their lives were nothing alike. Morrigan came from the Wilds while she from the alienage. But the hounds would hunt either way, for they cared not if their home was made of forests or of stoned walls. 

Carmen tried to imagine what kind of people they’d be, if they grew up differently. Would her hands still be as calloused as they were? Would Morrigan be just as brutally cold and apathetic? She let herself indulge in the thought of that life, and grew wistful at all the things that could’ve been. Fleeting as those dreams were, crumbling away like forgotten eras to welcome a new age of cataclysm. 

For all those horrific tales of the Witches of the Wilds told to every generation of Fereldan children, they would never tell of the witch who was once just a girl. Because they would rather see that image burned, like they burned all the things they feared.

“Do you ever wonder what would’ve become of that little girl, had she kept the mirror?”

Morrigan didn’t respond at first, looking deep in thought. Carmen was almost sure she wouldn’t answer, until the witch stood up and placed the lid over the pot, signaling that she was finished with the cooking.

“Yes,” she simply said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been so busy, I completely forgot about posting the new chapter. Next one is already in the works and will be up soon™.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	12. Night of the Dead

It had been roughly three hours since the sun had gone down. No one really had an apetite, with the exception of Blue. So they made do with casual conversation around the fire as they waited for the signal that would alert them of the ghouls’ attack. The fire hissed and crackled under the night, with the faint nervous chatter from other soldiers at their own camps, all waiting with just as much unease as she did for the coming battle. 

Leliana put away her dish and pulled her quiver out to count the arrows. Then she moved on to tightening her bow, gripping the yew with careful hands. 

Alistair set aside his dish as well and leaned in towards her. “So, you said you were a minstrel? Think you’ll write any songs about this battle, should we be victorious?”

She smiled. “Why, yes. I'm already working on a potential telling in my head. Two Wardens, the last of their order, battling evil monsters and rising to become heroes of this land. It will be quite the romantic tale.”

“Right, I can see it now.” Alistair sat up straighter as he waved one hand to highlight imaginary words in the air. “This is the story of how a bunch of stumbling freshlings saved the world! Probably best to leave out the ghouls, though,” he said on the site. “Darkspawn I can handle, but corpses come back to life? Gives me the creeps.” Alistair shuddered. “I know, not very Grey Warden of me to say, but still.”

Leliana chuckled. “Oh don’t worry about it, Alistair. Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“Really?” His eyes sparked with hope. “Even Carmen?”

“No,” said Carmen.

Leliana gave her a half-hearted glare and an exasperated sigh. “Very helpful, you.”

That caused the girl to break into a mischievous smile, one that disappeared just as fast as it came, easily missed. The Warden seldom showed anything other than a stoic expression outside of battle. But during battle, from the few they’ve been in together thus far, she would have the same animosity of a starving wolf. Oh, she always seemed so hungry, didn’t she? Both figuratively, and literally. Granted, so was Alistair, as the abnormal appetite was apparently a ‘Grey Warden thing’ as he put it.

But it was as if a berserker rage took hold of the Warden's mind during those intense moments of battle, and only when there were no hearts left beating, would she settle down with a huff and a pair of stiff shoulders. Leliana was almost afraid to approach her during those times. As if the girl would lash out if they so much as touched her without announcing their presence. 

Warden Carmen was always baring her teeth. If she wasn’t snarling, then she was laughing. A cruel cackle at the misstep of a fool, or a defiant one whenever she was hurt. 

“Know of any stories you could tell now?” she asked.

“Of course. I love stories far too much to keep them to myself. Everyone should be able to benefit from them, I think.”

Leliana weaved a tale for them with ease, as easy as it was to her like breathing. It was something she would never tire of, even if she had to tell the same story a hundred times over. Though Leliana loved the stories themselves, it was more so what the listeners got out of them that made them worth telling. 

“...and so, the Maker despaired again. For He had given His new children the gift of creation, and they had created sin.” 

Blue howled wistfully as the tale came to a close.

“Heh, we’re the disappointments,” chuckled Alistair, elbowing his fellow Warden.

“I don't believe that,” Leliana said. “The Maker smiles sadly on His Grey Wardens. As no sacrifice is greater than theirs.”

“And what of the spirits then?” Carmen spoke up for the first time since the tale started.

“The Maker’s first children, bless their souls, remained in the Fade, clinging to the dreams of mortals. Those who wished to fulfill their purpose latched onto an emotion, while the more benevolent kind preyed on the minds of mages, envious of their world.”

“And did He not abandon His first children?” 

“He did,” Leliana said.

"But you think He's still here for us?"

"I do." 

Leliana knew what the Warden was getting at, and one could hardly blame her. Had she been raised in the cloister, Leliana might’ve retaliated back defensively, but that was what the Chantry would’ve wanted, no? Spreading the word of the Maker to others wasn’t about spreading the Andrastian doctrine. It was about keeping the already faithful blinded to the Chantry’s faults.

“For all their faults, even the Chantry thinks He's gone and left us,” the Warden challenged. “You've got quite the uncharacteristic streak for a sister, wouldn’t you say?” 

Leliana shook her head, refusing to take the bait. “Lay sister,” she corrected with a smile. “I was never affirmed, remember? I know what it’s like to be forced to believe in something you don’t. Many of the Chantry would be condescending and treated me with disdain for what I truly believed in.”

“Oh?”

“The Chantry does a lot of things,” she said lamely. “They would have us exert their dogma upon those who have no desire to hear it. That’s how they get _us_ to stay loyal, you know. It’s all about cementing the converter into the religion.”

The attempt at conversion rarely ever successfully worked on anyone who wasn’t already willing to believe. However, it created a deep, tribal feeling amongst its own members of the faithful. Leliana had seen it for what it really was from the other sisters. The rejection they received from a heathen was far more important than the few people they actually converted. Because the discomfort and alienation the sisters felt made them ‘outsiders’, in a sense. These uncomfortable feelings would go away when they returned to the safe walls of the Chantry and the loving embrace of a Revered Mother, where they could freely preach to the choir, heralded as heroes by the Vicar.

“These _brave_ sisters would leave the supportive circle of the Chantry into a cruel world, reaching out to the godless people to show them the truth. Then, they would often return after a fruitless attempt at trying to show a Dalish elf the ‘light of the Maker’, for instance,” she said, eliciting a chuckle from Carmen and Alistair, “and they’d come to falsely identify these people as their enemy. Because these _heathens_ rejected their religion, but that’s okay, the Chantry loves you and applauds your attempt at saving their souls!” Leliana said sarcastically. “A dirty tactic, yes. Why do you think so many followed Divine Renata's declaration of an exalted march on the Dales without question?”

Carmen listened silently, regarding her with a curious look. But her expression was contemplative. Leliana couldn’t tell if she had offended the Warden.

But then the Warden finally spoke, a lot more amused than anything. “You’re strange for an Andrastian, ya know that? Dare I say... _blasphemous,_ ” she teased. But there was something else in her eyes that almost resembled respect. 

Leliana laughed. “It doesn't bother me, not anymore. I know what the Chantry says about the Maker, but what should I believe?” she asked, growing serious again. “What I believe in my heart, or what others tell me?”

“If what you believe in gives you comfort, or if it could give someone else comfort, then what's the harm? You believe what you wish to,” Carmen said bluntly. As if it was the most obvious and _only_ answer that could be derived. 

The Warden’s words surprised her, and Leliana found that she could not hold back a small smile from escaping. “Thank you,” she said genuinely. “I know what I know, and no one will ever make that untrue.”

It felt like she needed someone to nudge her along just enough so she could say those words she could never have said in the cloister. It was oddly refreshing to have someone who didn’t shame her for her beliefs, and Leliana didn’t realize how much she longed for such a feeling of acceptance until now. A feeling that not even the Chantry provided, ironically. For her, the cloister was a place for contemplation and peace. A refuge. But even there, she was judged. Leliana wondered if the Revered Mother was still there. If Lothering was still there. For all she knew, the darkspawn had already overtaken the poor village by now.

Leliana fiddled with the tails of her arrows with a sigh.

* * *

Carmen watched with an amused smile as the soldiers were messing around with Sten. Well, if she was being honest, Sten was messing around with _them._ They had pulled up a small, wooden table at the camp, and was playing what looked to be a knife game. She bet her coin that it was _Five Finger Fillet._ Because there wasn’t any other game that could get someone’s heart pumpin’ and ready for a battle.

“You ox-men have too big of a hand to do this!” mocked one of the men, voice laced with a drunken stupor.

The soldiers laughed, as the knife was embedded harshly against the flat of the wood, signaling that it was now Sten’s turn.

Sten pulled the knife out, then grabbed the man’s hand, planting it flat against the board. 

“Hey, what do you think yer doin’?” 

“My hands are too big,” Sten said obviously. 

Carmen nearly laughed out loud at that. He was enjoying this far too much, and whatever he had planned for that man, she could only guess.

“You’re s’posed to do it on _your_ hand, or do ya not know how to play this game? Oh what am I saying, ‘course ya don’t,” the man taunted.

But Sten didn’t let go of his hand and forcibly spread his fingers apart. 

“Come on, Harold! Let the Qunari have its fun!” shouted one of his friends, followed by various whoops from behind.

Sten proceeded to poke the knife multiple times against the table between the man’s fingers, and everyone watched in awe as he sped up to a pace that was inhuman (naturally), all while the poor man stared in frozen terror as the knife narrowly missed his fingers many times. This went on for a hot minute, and at this point, Sten had reached a breakneck speed with the knife that even had _her_ guts clenching with anticipation for the inevitable cut.

But when he finally stopped, no such thing came. The man’s fingers were free of any cuts or stabs, and Sten calmly got up, handing the man’s knife back to him. Seconds later, the soldiers around them erupted into laughter as the man was still sitting, holding his knife with his mouth agape.

Sten walked away from the group with a pleased look on his face, amusingly enough. He nodded to her as he passed her by, and went back to sharpening his greatsword, sounds from the soldiers’ laughters still faint from behind them.

Alistair came up to them as well, having watched from a distance. “Gave him quite the scare, didn’t you?” He chuckled.

“You humans certainly do make a lot of expressions.”

Any further conversations were cut short however by the bellowing sound of a horn. The soldiers stopped laughing, her companions turned their heads to her, and very quickly, everyone got up from their camps and started hustling to their designated positions.

Carmen turned to her companions. “Look sharp!”

Orders were being shouted by Mayor Murdock, and behind the barricade, forty of his men stood in defense, awaiting the attack with trepidation, with the only sounds that accompanied their fidgeting being the occasional soft creaking from the windmill. A few dozen archers could be seen, readying their bow atop the hills and roofs of the nearby houses. 

Carmen's companions followed behind her, remembering their roles. Alistair and she had their shields held up, shoulder-to-shoulder, awaiting for the army of ghouls to rush upon them like a riptide. A faint tremor could be felt at the ground, sounds of the thundering stomps of the monsters from beyond the barricade. The sound gradually became louder, and _stronger,_ until the first of the ghouls could be seen through the fog. Their running was contorted with awkward lurches and heavy snarls. Whatever left of what was considered 'human' that remained within those putrid beasts were long gone by now.

At the corners of her eyes, a few men had taken their tokens out for a brief moment, kissing them for luck, all accompanied by the faint prayers from Leliana and the low hum of magic that began to charge from Morrigan's staff. Blue's steady growl traveled through the air, his stance wide and ready.

"Archers! Aim!" barked the Mayor.

Sounds of arrow heads hitting the wood of their bows and the pull of string signaled they were ready, as they awaited for his next command with held breaths. 

She could smell them now, all while they got dangerously closer. The smell of...death. There was no other way to describe it. They were no darkspawn, but they were just as horrific. With the darkspawn, it was the smell of poison. Of swallowing mould and having it stuck in your throat, tears threatening to spill from the sheer disgust of it. But with ghouls, it was simple and clear. Except it wasn't. They were dead. _The dead were not supposed to walk._ Whatever dark magic was at work here needed to be put to an end sooner or later.

“Fire!” shouted the Mayor.

The first of the monsters dropped dead as the arrows pierced their skulls. But very quickly, their bodies were trampled over by another batch from behind, and the shields of the first line of defense impacted roughly against their lank, gnarled frames. Carmen grunted, surprised by the unnatural strength from something that barely had any meat on. She could see it, now that they were so close. The remnants of what they were before; the traditional armour of a castle guard, a ripped dress of a kitchen maid, the remains of hair falling out of their scalps. 

They were alive once. Their eyes were bloodshot, skin pale and sickly, and they reeked of carrion.

Carmen shriveled her nose.

The troops held their formation tight, keeping their shields up as they steadily cut down the front row of ghouls. But very soon, their arms would tire, and they would scatter like a dam being broken. Fatigue from the smell, sweat, and the weight of her armour was already settling in. 

A concentrated ball of heat flew above her head, followed by something whistling past her ear. An arrow maybe.

‘Tis weak to fire!” yelled Morrigan from behind.

Sten gave a wide sweep of his greatsword at four ghouls that were making their way towards him, easily dismembering them all at once by their torsos. Their pale frames had become so nimble and fragile from the decay that the faintest lines of their ribs could be seen. It was a surprise that these ghouls could even stand on two feet, much less lift a weapon. 

Suddenly, one of the scouts rushed to them from the sides. 

“They’re attacking the Chantry from the other side!” he screamed, hands shaking in panic. 

Alistair’s eyes widened. “What?!” 

The scout began to repeat himself. “I said they’re-”. 

“I heard what you said!” he hissed. “I just don’t get _how!”_

It was hard to hear, what with all the chaos that was the battle, filled to the brim with the loud clangs of weapons impacting against each other, as well as her helmet covering her ears. But she got the message.

“It don't matter. We need to get there now!” Carmen turned to the Mayor. “Murdock, can your men take it?! They need reinforcements down there!”

“Don’t worry, miss, we got it from here! You best hurry!” he shouted from across the battlefield, roughly pulling a sword out of the abdomen of one of the ghouls.

Nodding sharply, Carmen and beckoned her companions. Morrigan casted one final spell that planted a large firewall past the barricade that would hopefully slow the ghouls down for Murdock’s men, before they followed the Warden down the hills of Redcliffe and into the village where the Chantry was.

By the time they had reached the Chantry and fended off the ghouls, everyone was about ready to drop from the exhaustion. Ser Perth and his knights fought valiantly, but even they were finished for the night. Teagan held his side from a gash from one of the ghouls’ weapons, wiping sweat from his brow. Hundreds of corpses lay unmoving around the Chantry’s doors, the stench of fetid, rotten corpses so strong, no blessing could ever cleanse. 

Carmen looked to the sky. "D'ya hear that?"

Alistair watched her with an odd expression, cocking his head to listen. “I hear nothing.”

“Exactly. Nothing.” She panted, leaning against a rock. “They’re gone.” 

He looked around, waiting for a fresh batch of the next wave to burst into the area from beyond the hilltops any moment now. But nothing came. Alistair let out a breath, eyes creasing from a relieved laugh. Very soon, many laughs came from the soldiers around them, as they all looked to their mates with grins, exhaling with relief and clapping each other on their shoulders, while soft prayers were given to their fallen brethren. It seems those who still stood standing would survive the night, after all.

A gruff voice exploded into a belly laugh, as a dwarf grabbed his flagon and began drinking with his mates. Looked like Dwyn decided to join the fight after all. Truth be told, Carmen wasn’t sure if the bastard was going to join in the end. He had been pretty adamant in staying locked up like a hermit inside his own home, and no amount of convincing could get him to help the troops in the fight. 

Teagan called for the injured to come inside the Chantry for healing and thanked the two Wardens profusely, promising to speak with them tomorrow in regards to their next move. 

Carmen sheathed her weapons, limping through the door, with her companions following. A sprained ankle, nothing more. Though she felt nothing, for the adrenaline pulsing through her was still strong enough to keep the pain away for now. Carmen suspected that when she became as old and frail as Hahren, only then would she feel the pain of all her battles catch up to her. But then again, that wasn't something she had to worry about anyway. _Not after my diagnosis, anyway,_ she thought bitterly with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 

“Warden,” said a woman’s voice from behind. 

She turned. _Leliana._ “Yeah?”

“Your arm..." She reached out, before hesitating. "It's bleeding."

Carmen frowned and her face contorted with confusion. When she looked down to her arms, she spotted a large dagger embedded deep into her right forearm, the hilt protruding outwards while her blood spilled down her hands, staining the Chantry’s carpet. Her eyes widened a bit. _When the blazes did that get there?_ She hadn’t felt it, and assumed that the wetness of her hands was merely her sweat, not blood. Must’ve been one of the ghouls that got her. Or an inexperienced soldier in his first battle even. Fighting in the dark made for something very chaotic, she had to admit, and they had all basically crashed into one another headfirst with their shields that she was bound to have gotten a taste of friendly fire. This time, a blade managed to slip through the crevices of her gauntlet.

She sat down on one of the benches and pulled the dagger out with a sharp exhale, setting it aside and reaching for the bandages laid out with her other hand. But her hands were still shaking, far too sloppy for any potential threading of needles to stitch the wound. Carmen sighed. She supposed a simple wrap would have to do for the time being. But what she would do for a mage healer right about now. The fact that they could just heal a wound with a flick of a finger baffled and amazed her to no end. Sometimes, Carmen wished it was that easy back home. But unfortunately, the wounds 'back home' went far deeper than mere paper cuts.

Blue would come up beside her with a low whine, sniffing her arm. But she didn't like it when others fussed over her, not even a dog. So Carmen would sit, away from the others, and lick her own wounds. Always alone. Cuts, fractures, dislocations...those she could handle. They would heal and leave trophies of scars to remind her that she lived, for better or for worse. 

“Here, let me,” Leliana said after watching her struggle, reaching a hand out.

“No!” Carmen said, perhaps a little too harshly. “No...I can do this,” she said quieter this time, nodding to herself. 

“I can help you with that.”

“I don’t _need_ your help,” Carmen grumbled with an annoyed grunt, and suddenly she was the angry dog ready to snarl away Leliana's kindness with a 'don't touch me' on her lips. Her eyes narrowed and a frown etched across her face with concentration as she stubbornly tried to unravel the bandage. “I can take care of myself.”

But then, Leliana met her cruelty with a gentle look. “You don’t always have to,” she said softly.

She looked up, watching as the sister-no, _lay sister,_ looked at her with imploring eyes, her hand hovering over the bandage Carmen was holding. She wanted to snap at Leliana and tell her off with a harsh kick. It was unacceptable to be seen like this; fumbling around with bandages like an amateur, hands too clumsy for knots. The very act of baring her wounds, her _blood,_ before another human was uncomfortable _._ 'Humiliating' wouldn't even begin to describe it, though it was quite fitting. But alas, Carmen couldn’t find the strength within herself to do so. She was exhausted. 

So finally, letting out a defeated sigh, Carmen nodded once and held her injured arm out.

Taking the bandage with a grateful smile, Leliana began to wipe the blood away with a cloth lightly drenched in alcohol, and Carmen clenched her teeth from the sting. Then she slowly wrapped the silk bandages over the wound. It was rude-looking, inflammation around the large gash that looked worse than it felt. Red faintly breached through the white of the bandages, but it was enough to prevent any further blood loss. Their fingers touched momentarily and Carmen suddenly found her boots to be the most interesting thing to stare at in the entire building. Then as quick as it started, Leliana was done.

Carmen expected the process to be...well, she didn't know what she expected, really. The process of letting someone else bandage you up was weird to her. Almost _i_ _ntimate,_ actually. She had never been patched up by another human before. Usually, they were the ones doing the hurting. _You had never been bought a drink by a human either,_ she reminded herself _._ Everything since the start of their little roadtrip had just been so unexpected. 

“There,” said Leliana, pleased with her work. “That wasn’t so bad, no?”

The Warden examined her newly bandaged arm and put her gauntlet back on. _Satisfactory._

“Hmph.” 

Leliana shook her head with a smile, and by the time the woman turned and walked away to check up on Alistair, Carmen allowed herself a small smile too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it through the battle. Thanks for reading so far!  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	13. The Fade-Touched Boy

Teagan rubbed the back of his head nervously with a guilty look.

“You mean to tell me you had a way into the castle this entire time?” Carmen asked.

“Yes.”

She glared. “And you didn’t think to bring this up before?” 

“I...I wasn’t sure if you were going to help us if you knew,” Teagan said with a wince. 

Carmen took a steady breath while Alistair told him they would have anyway. There were times when her blood pressure became much higher than healthy, but she could hardly blame the man for doubting. Sten and Morrigan had been pretty vocal on their displeasure of helping Redcliffe and spared no opinions on wishing to abandon the village and its people. She hadn’t meant for her words to come out so accusatory, but a lot of time could’ve been saved if his information was relayed earlier. 

Looking towards her companions, Carmen only received shrugs and bored expressions. She turned back to Teagan. 

“None of that matters now. Long as we have a way in, we can finally put an end to this madness,” she said.

Whatever Teagan was about to say next, however, was broken off by a woman’s cry for help from a distance, followed by a lone guard that was following her at a run. 

“Teagan! Oh, thank the Maker it’s you!” The woman looked relieved for a second, but her features were still clouded with worry. 

Teagan’s brows shot up. “Isolde?” he gasped. “You’re alive! How did you escape the castle?” He held her arms with a disbelieving smile. 

She shook her head. “That’s not important, for I’ve not much time to explain. I’m only able to be away from the castle temporarily, and I...need you to return with me, Teagan,” she said nervously. “Alone.”

Carmen wasn’t sure if Morrigan’s claims of Alistair being dense were true or not, but regardless, even _he_ had to think that was incredibly suspect. She narrowed her eyes towards Isolde and crossed her arms. 

“S'not a good idea, Teagan. Could be a trap,” she warned.

Isolde turned and noticed her for the first time, before frowning indignantly. She sneered. “Who is this woman, Teagan?” Her voice was condescending, with an accent Carmen had pegged to be Orlesian. _Very_ thick Orlesian.

Alistair spoke up from behind with a soft sigh. “You remember me, Lady Isolde, don’t you?”

“What...Alistair? Of all the-!” Isolde rubbed her forehead with a scoff. “Why are _you_ here?”

“They are Grey Wardens, Isolde. I owe them my life,” explained Teagan before any misunderstandings could arise. 

“Oh. Well, your pardon,” Isolde said impartially. “I would exchange pleasantries, but considering the circumstances…”

Alistair took a few steps forward so that he was now beside Carmen. “Please, Lady Isolde, we had no idea anyone was even alive within the castle. You must have some answers,” he implored.

Isolde started to sound desperate. “I know you desire more of an explanation, but I…” She turned to Teagan. “I need your help. Please, you have to trust me,” she pleaded.

“There’s somethin' else, isn’t there?” Carmen said. “Something more that you’re not telling us?” 

Perhaps not the greatest way to go about making a friend with the woman, but Carmen didn’t exactly have a desire to anyway. She’d be hard-pressed if she was going to trust this stranger to lead Teagan into a castle in which those bloody ghouls came from, despite the two having known each other. Even a blind, deaf, comatose, tranquil could probably sense that something was definitely amiss. 

But Isolde shot her a glare, of course. “Excuse me? How dare you suggest-”

“ _Isolde_ ,” Teagan thankfully cut her off, looking at her seriously. “I urge you to be transparent with us. What exactly are we dealing with here?”

She let out an exasperated breath in defeat. “There is a terrible evil within the castle.” 

Carmen and Morrigan both shared looks of annoyance and rolled their eyes. _What’s next? Is this woman going to tell us there’s Andrastian symbolism in the Chant of Light?_ she thought sarcastically. But she smartly didn’t voice her thoughts, lest they all witnessed another wave of indignant spluttering from Isolde. The last thing they needed was unnecessary time wasted instead of tangible answers they could work with.

Isolde went on, pacing in front of them. “The dead waken and haunt the living. The mage responsible was caught but still, it continues! And I think Connor is going mad. We have survived, but he won’t free the castle. He’s seen so much _death_ ,” she said gravely. At this point, Isolde looked about ready to get on her knees to beg. “Teagan, you must help him. You...you could...I don’t know, reason with him!”

Teagan regarded her with a grim expression.

“This evil you speak of, could it be a demon?” Carmen asked.

“I...I do not know,” said Isolde, suddenly looking very afraid. “Oh, Maker’s mercy, could it truly be a demon?” The faintest sounds of anxiety rose from her throat until it spiraled into panic. “I...I-I can’t let it hurt my Connor! You must come back with me, Teagan. Please!”

 _Her_ Connor? Who was he to this woman? Obviously someone close. Meanwhile, Teagan was scratching his chin, weighing out his options. 

Then the man sighed and finally spoke. “I will return to the castle with you, Isolde.”

“Oh, thank the Maker! Bless you, Teagan. Bless you!” Isolde cried.

Carmen frowned. “Have you lost your wits?” she asked him incredulously. She was genuinely appalled by his decision and hoped he knew what he was doing.

“Perhaps I can help Connor or Eamon, perhaps this is really a trap. But they are my family. I must try.” Teagan’s face was resolute and filled with determination. When Carmen still didn’t look convinced, he repeated himself. “They are my family,” he said simply. 

Whatever it was she was going to say to him died in her mouth. Carmen slowly nodded in understanding and something else. A mutual respect, perhaps. 

Teagan took the Wardens aside to speak privately while Isolde waited by the bridge. With his signet ring he leant her, it would allow them to unlock the secret door from within the windmill and into the castle. Carmen’s stomach clenched with nervous anticipation for what they would find within those stone walls, for she highly doubted that the ghouls were the most horrific thing they would have seen in Redcliffe. 

* * *

Leliana longed for the day when the sight of chains, iron bars, and racks stained with dried blood didn’t quicken her heart and leave her breathless. This day was not that day.

She followed the Warden at the back of the group as they moved through the dungeons, making their way up the castle at a pace she wouldn’t call comfortable. The remnants of decomposing corpses could be seen in some of the cells, their arms still chained to the walls and lined with cobwebs, with their only freedom having been their death. Leliana’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips, fists tightening to the point where her knuckles turned white. 

Distant yelling broke her out of her anxious haze and she looked up to see two ghouls by a man’s cell, snarling at them as they noticed their presence. They were easy to cut down and the Warden came upon the cell, putting away her spear once the threat was eliminated. 

“By the love of all that is holy, thank you, stranger!” exclaimed the man. “But wait, you don’t look like one of the arlessa’s guards.”

“Who are you?” Carmen asked. 

“My name is Jowan. I’m a mage Lady Isolde hired to tutor Connor. That was until they, uhh, threw me into the dungeon.”

Her eyes darkened. “ _You’re_ the mage she mentioned? Did you do all this?” 

“No! I…” he sighed. “I poisoned Arl Eamon, but that’s all I did.”

Alistair gawked at the mage in surprise before storming up to the cell. “You what?!”

Jowan put his hands up in surrender. “Look I know it’s suspicious, but I swear, I’m not responsible for these creatures and the killings in the castle. I was already imprisoned before all this began!”

Before Alistair could barrage the man with further accusations, Carmen cut him off. “Who hired you to poison the Arl?”

“Teryn Loghain. He sent me to do the job when Lady Isolde was looking for a mage tutor. Connor...Eamon’s son, he started showing signs, but instead of sending him away to the Circle, she had me train him in secret. I was told by Arl Howe that Eamon was a threat to Ferelden and that if I dealt with him, Loghain would settle matters with the Circle,” he explained. “You see...I’m a Maleficar.” 

“Of course he is,” Alistair said shortly. “It’s always a Maleficar.” 

“And was Arl Eamon himself aware of his son’s magic?” Carmen asked with a raised eyebrow.

Jowan shook his head. “No. I thought if I did as Loghain wished, he would give me a chance to...redeem myself.” Jowan laughed weekly, leaning against the bars of his cell with one arm. “What a fool I was. He’s abandoned me, hasn’t he? It is as I feared.” 

Morrigan clicked her tongue. “What a mess you've been caught up in. And here of _all_ places.” 

He hung his head in defeat. “I know I messed up, badly, but I want to make things right. Connor, he’s...he’s not well. He might’ve accidentally let a demon in from the other side. Only explanation for these ghouls, I’d reckon.” 

“I say we let him come,” said Morrigan. “He could be of use to us. Either that or let him go.”

“Let a blood mage who poisoned Eamon free? Don’t be ridiculous!” cried Alistair. 

“Better to slay him? Better to punish him for his choices? Is this Alistair who speaks or the templar?” Morrigan said, shooting daggers into his eyes. “Feel free to hunt him down yourself if you adore the idea of caging someone, while the rest of us move forward with our task.” 

The two continued to bicker while Carmen looked uncertain. Though it did appear highly suspect that the mage who poisoned Arl Eamon so happened to be conveniently caught up in the entire mess that was the ghoul attacks, Leliana couldn’t help but feel bad for him. The only thing the poor boy could count himself lucky for was that he was only in Ferelden. She could tell a liar with a face concealed behind a mask as easy as blinking, and Jowan seemed genuine in this case. _And those wounds all over his arms, his sunken cheekbones...the signs of what they did to him are obvious._

“He wishes to redeem himself,” Leliana said. “Doesn’t everyone deserve that chance?”

Carmen didn’t say anything at first, but then she relented. “He comes with us for now.”

Alistair gave the Warden an odd look. “What? Are you serious?”

“Either he dies after this or he’s sent back to the Circle. You were a templar once, Alistair. You, more than anyone, know what they will do. But he is not our enemy here,” Carmen said.

Exhaling a breath, his lips pressed together in a thin line, refusing to look at Morrigan’s smug expression. “Fine. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Jowan could hardly believe what was happening and broke into a genuine smile. “ _Thank you._ I won’t forget your kindness,” he said as he stepped out of his cell.

As the group ascended the steps into the main halls of the castle, more of the ghouls rose from their motionless bodies into walking monstrosities that hungered for their flesh. _Necromancy._ Even the word itself had a disturbing connotation to it. One that crept down Leliana’s back till it rested at the pit of her stomach, with the knowledge that these were once living people before too glaring to be ignored.

At last, they reached the great hall. If the ghouls they faced were any indication of a greater monstrosity at play here, then Leliana expected to see exactly that. Perhaps a nightmarish beast with fangs or tentacles, torturing Lady Isolde and Connor while Teagan lay dead, ready to have his corpse desecrated to become a ghoul. But what they were greeted with instead was...laughter? 

Teagan was performing in front of a boy like a jester, so unlike his usual demeanor. If Leliana had to guess, he must’ve been under some thrall.

Lady Isolde cowered behind the throne, watching helplessly as the little boy clapped along to the sound of his heels against the wooden floors. The boy was sickly, eyes gleaming with wild glee, far too murderous of a visage for someone his age. Any trace of child-like innocence was absent. It was disturbing. As if his small frame wasn’t big enough to hold whatever it was inside. _Dear Maker, could he be possessed?_

“So _these_ are our visitors?” asked the boy once he saw them approach. 

Leliana almost gasped at his voice, for it was unnaturally deep and contorted. The uncanniness of it all made her feel like a child again, wishing to run from a voice that projected nothing but danger.Almost as if a second voice could be heard not even a moment after his words were spoken — a voice that sounded strangely _female._

His eyes sparkled with something Leliana was familiar with. The same eyes of a predator that had stumbled upon a nest full of bird eggs unguarded by its mother; excitement and hunger. Leliana wouldn’t be surprised if the boy started frothing, mouth dripping with saliva. It was _cursed._ No child should look so twisted. 

The guards stood still as statues, obediently standing watch. A young woman could be seen, lying on the floor beside one of the long tables, softly crying. Her legs were unmoving and she groaned weakly in pain. _She had to be crippled,_ Leliana thought with horror.

“What did you _do?_ _”_ Carmen demanded.

The boy cocked his head. “The blacksmith’s daughter? Ahh yes. Hiding in places where she did not belong. Still, I always had a soft spot for her,” he said wistfully, before flashing a smile. “Just not between the backbone, of course.” He suddenly broke out into a loud cackle.

Alistair started to stomp forward, face contorted with anger, but Carmen put an arm against his shoulder, stopping him. 

“But what are you?” asked the boy, ignoring the other Warden, his eyes squinting at Carmen. “I can’t see it well enough.”

“This...is just an elf, Connor,” Isolde mustered weakly. “You’ve seen elves before. We have them in the castle...”

“Oh yes!” Connor’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “I remember elves! I hear their ears are quite sensitive. I had the ears of those elven servants cut off and fed to the dogs! They chewed for _hours_. Shall I send this one to the kennels, as well?” He smiled before laughing wickedly. 

Carmen grunted and crossed her arms uncomfortably, her fists already clenching and unclenching. Probably itching for her weapons if Leliana had to guess. 

“Connor, I beg you! Don’t hurt any more people,” Isolde pleaded.

“M-mother?” His voice was suddenly that of a normal young boy’s and he rubbed the sides of his head as if he had a migraine. “What…what’s happening? Where...?”

Isolde all but fell to her knees, eyes wet and shining from the light of the fireplace. “Oh, thank the Maker. Connor! Connor, can you hear me?”

The Warden looked at the arlessa with sad eyes and shook her head solemnly. “I guessed he was your son, but I was sort of hoping he wasn’t. This complicates things.”

Isolde looked at her desperately before being slapped by Connor from the side. 

“Get away from me, fool woman!” he shrieked, his demonic voice having returned. “You are beginning to bore me!”

His mother whimpered. “Warden...please. Don’t hurt my son. He’s not responsible for what he does! It was that mage, _he_ started all of this!” Isolde pointed an accusing finger towards Jowan once her disbelief that he was out of his cell passed. The mage stood sheepishly behind the two Wardens. “Connor just wanted to save his father...”

“And made a deal with a demon to do so?” quipped Morrigan. “Foolish child.”

“It was a _fair deal!”_ Connor declared. “Father is alive, just as I wanted. Now I get to rule the castle, and I’m not finished with my fun just yet!”

Before anyone could stop him, Connor bolted out of the room in a fit of evil giggles, while the remaining guards and Teagan lunged towards the party with their weapons drawn.

Leliana nocked an arrow and began to fire a volley that brought down several of the guards, incapacitating them by the knees and not outright killing them. Morrigan had the sense to keep them alive as well as she cast a frost spell, and all that was left in the room were men encased in ice, their motions frozen like sculptures in a play.

“Teagan!” Lady Isolde shouted. “Teagan, are you alright?!” She helped the man up, his limbs still stiff from the spell and his garments laced with snow.

He rubbed his face. “I...I am better now, I think.” Though, he still wobbled on his feet.

“Blessed Andraste, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you died!” she said, turning to the Warden. “Please, don’t hurt my son! This isn’t his fault!” 

“Don’t think anyone is suggesting the first thing we should do is butcher a child,” Carmen said dryly.

“I disagree,” Sten spoke for the first time since entering Redcliffe castle. “The boy is clearly possessed by a demon. The only option is to kill him.” 

“No!” Isolde and Alistair cried out at the same time.

“He is an abomination,” Sten said.

“He is just a _child!”_ Leliana argued. 

“Stop it,” said Carmen. “Let’s be rational about this, lest we make any _further_ mistakes?” She shot a glare at Isolde, who looked away with guilt. “You. You knew about this the whole time, didn’t you? You thought you could train Connor in secret. Now look what you’ve done.”

Isolde gave her a helpless look. “I did what I had to protect him! They would’ve taken him away and I would never see him again...”

“And now you might never see him again because, for all we know, the demon has already taken his soul!” Carmen snapped.

“No!” Isolde started to sob, hands shaking with terror. “No, don’t say that! I _know_ my son is still in there!”

Teagan patted her shoulder gently but his expression was stern. “I’m afraid she’s right, Isolde. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t kept Connor’s magic a secret.”

 _Maker, this was a mess._

Carmen looked at Jowan expectedly and he stepped forward.

“My lady, I know what you must think of me, but I know of another way that doesn’t involve killing the boy. A mage could confront the demon in the Fade without hurting Connor himself,” he said.

“Can that truly be done?” Carmen asked Morrigan with a sliver of hope.

The Witch shrugged. “Depends. Normally, it would require strong doses of lyrium and several mages. Something we don’t currently have, I’m afraid.”

“No,” Jowan agreed. “But it can be done with...blood magic. This ritual requires a lot of energy, one that can be provided from someone’s life energy where lyrium cannot at the moment. However, it requires... _a lot_ of it.”

Carmen nodded grimly and sighed sharply, already understanding the implications that were left unsaid. Of course there was a catch. They would need a sacrifice. Everyone else seemed to get the gist of it as well, as they exploded into an argument.

Leliana didn’t know what to do. Blood magic didn’t sit right with her, but if it could save a boy, a child, then was it worth it to dabble in the forbidden arts just this once?

Before they could argue until the sun was set and the corpses of the ghouls withered to bones, Isolde silenced everyone with four simple words. 

“I will do it.” 

Teagan stared at her in shock, before stammering. “Isolde...are you mad? Do not be foolish now!” 

But she shook her head. “I did this to Connor,” she said, finally admitting it out loud. “I must undo it. And I am willing to die if it means it will save my son.”

“No,” Carmen said. “I can’t let you do that.”

Isolde started to speak. “But I-”

“ _No,_ ” the Warden said harsher this time. “There must be another way. I will _not_ deprive a child of his mother.” 

Leliana noted the waver in Carmen’s voice, something that stood out curiously to her. 

The Wardens looked at the ground helplessly, considering their options, before an idea from Alistair emerged. 

“The Circle!” Alistiar exclaimed, suddenly looking hopeful and grabbing his fellow Warden by the shoulders. “We have ourselves a tower chock-full of mages _and_ we have the treaties that could get us their help. We could go to them and bring them here to perform the ritual. _They_ must have enough lyrium!” He was practically bursting with giddiness now.

But Morrigan brought him down. “Do not be so quick to rush into the meadows. The Circle is a two week journey there and back. What do you think will happen to Redcliffe during that time should we leave poor little Connor all alone? Who could guess how many of those ghouls the boy still has at his disposal.”

“Then we leave some here to watch him,” Carmen said. “Someone capable.” She gave Sten a knowing look. “You and Blue will stay here to watch the boy. And _Sten,_ let it be known that the lethal option should be the _last_ resort. Do you understand?” Carmen looked at him seriously when he didn't respond. “ _Do you understand?”_ she repeated.

“Affirmative,” Sten said.

Blue trotted up to the Warden, whining against her palm after hearing he was being left behind. 

Carmen knelt and gave him a soft pat on the head. “I need you to guard the child with Sten. This is an important task, Blue. Don’t let the child hurt anyone, and don’t start biting him until...until you have to.” 

Leliana was surprised to see that the mabari seemed to understand every word the Warden said, and if a dog could nod, this one did.

“Good boy.”

Alistair walked up to her, grumbling. “Is it really a good idea to leave _Sten_ here? Didn’t he slaughter an entire-”

Carmen silenced him by stomping on his foot, whacking him softly on the shoulder, before subtly gesturing with a tilt of her head towards a confused bann and a very distraught arlessa. 

“Actually, he’s the only one here I trust who is capable of doing what is necessary,” said Carmen. She looked down with a forlorn expression. “I pray to whatever gods there are that it don't have to come to that. But let us depart now and make haste while we still have time.” 

Morrigan sighed. “This is insane.”

“I know,” she said. “But we have to try.”

Teagan gave her a warm smile. “Very well. The sooner you get to the Circle the better. I will keep Jowan here as a precaution. He says he wants to help and an extra pair of eyes is always welcome.” He stepped closer and patted her shoulder once. “Oh, and Warden? May the Maker watch over you.”

Carmen nodded gratefully. And so, they left for the Circle, playing on the fringes of fate in the hopes that they could somehow save a child’s soul from the tight clutches of a demon’s claws. 

Leliana whispered back to herself, _May the Maker watch over us all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't save everyone...  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	14. The Horse Came Back Alone

Shianni never did like funerals. 

Because that ‘someone’ who was once alive would never hear the words of regret from their loved ones. Would never hear the somber music, nor the mournful cries of a father. They would never see the hypocrisy of those who hardly associated with them, posing to have been their best friends when they were alive, or even worse, making them out into a saint to impress a Mother from the local chantry who never even knew them. Family members would stay late into the night reminiscing about the old times, while young children played, blissfully unaware in the background. 

Shianni didn’t like funerals. 

Not since the last purge where she had to attend to _so many,_ to the point where she almost grew nauseous, what with how much time she spent breathing in all that incense. She almost believed that was all her nose was ever going to smell, and literally breathed out a sigh of relief when it passed and she could smell the sweet fragrance of daisies again. It was awkward to figure out what to say during funerals. How long to hug, how to find the right words to console someone, or when to leave without it being rude.

The worst part about this one wasn’t the fact that they weren’t even able to recover a body. It was that they would never be able to put her ashes before the Vhenadahl, like the girl wanted to. Of course, the ashes would’ve eventually joined the rest at the graveyard and be properly buried. Sometimes they couldn’t even afford gravestones and had to carve them out of wood. But now, the urn in which Carmen’s ashes would’ve been stored would instead be hollow, and her gravestone that was beside her mother’s would be empty, with no urn to bury. Shianni supposed it was fitting. Adaia’s body was never recovered either. _Like mother, like daughter, in the most morbid of ways._

Shianni would never like funerals.

Still, the community knelt before the tree anyway, praying for Carmentine Tabris’ safe crossing to the Fade. She was supposed to turn twenty one in a couple of months too. Now she was just another girl who died too young. Everyone did a terrible job at pretending to be stoic about it all. Alarith rudely joked about how her cousin wouldn’t have been able to keep a plant alive, much less herself. Which hurt. Dilwyn had given him a right scowl. _‘It’s not your funeral. You can wait your turn like the rest of us_ ,’ she scolded. But the jape was his way of hurting less. Soris’ way was talking in a voice that was terrible at whispering. Nessa’s way was sitting cross-legged, aimlessly pulling out grass. 

Gethon put a hand on Shianni’s shoulder, opened his mouth, but didn't say anything, then left.

Shianni would’ve gone to Ostagar to look for her body herself, or at the very least, her _shield_ if her body was too unrecognizable from the handiwork of the vultures. Shianni suddenly grew ill at the thought. But Soris convinced her not to go. It would’ve been suicide anyway, considering the darkspawn horde that no doubt still lingered in those ruins. Carmen would have to settle for a sky burial.

She supposed her cousin would be immortalized in some small way, for better or for worse. Ever since the _incident_ , rumours of a crazed elven woman dressed in white and covered in human blood had made the rounds. _‘The Hound of Denerim will snatch your children!’_ they would cry. Shianni couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the irony of the moniker the shems had given her cousin. The guards would deny such rumours of course, because according to them, an elf having massacred an entire mansion of humans and the arl’s son was far too implausible. Either that, or it was embarrassing for them to admit. But Shianni was worried. A few of her friends had already been threatened by multiple human men the past few days. 

Shianni continued to listen to the funeral in silence, as Soris shuffled closer to her while the others continued to pray. “How is he?” he asked.

She shrugged. “About what you’d expect.”

Sighing, he wiped something from his eyes. “You should probably go and make sure he’s eating.”

“Don’t think he has an appetite right now.

It was disheartening, really. To watch such a strong man lose his greatest pride. It wasn’t the first time Cyrion was tripped up by life’s many hardships, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. He left the funeral early, probably exhausted by all the sorries and sympathies. One could hardly blame him. Ever since Shianni's parents died, he had kindly taken her in, and that was something she could never repay. Shianni had never seen the man cry before. He didn’t cry when the sailors robbed him of a week’s worth of work at the docks, and he didn’t cry when he lost two fingers from a falling crate. She never even saw him cry when his wife passed.

But when news of the king’s army and the Grey Wardens’ perish at the battle of Ostagar reached Denerim and the alienage, Shianni would never forget how he had crumbled. 

She had opened the door to their cabin, greeted with a living room littered with shattered glass on the floor, strewn about strings, and splintered wood from the broken masts of tiny ships. _Dozens_ of destroyed ships, like the ones you’d see along the shores of the Storm Coast. It was those two’s favourite pastime — building those silly bottled ships together. And in the middle of that shipwreck was Cyrion, silently weeping on the floor. 

He was lying against a wall, holding the last one in his trembling hands. It was the first one Carmen had built successfully, smaller than the rest, made from a used bottle of gin, a carved piece of firewood, and her mother’s yarn. It wasn’t that well-made; the sails were crooked, the hull on the wrong spot, and the strings weren’t tight. It looked more like a messy canoe rather than a ship. But no one had the heart to tell her at the time. 

Shianni remembered with a sad expression, as Cyrion put it away in a chest and went to sleep, waving away her attempts at comforting an old, grieving man. It wouldn’t have been much, but at least he would’ve had closure if he saw her body with his own eyes. But the Maker didn’t even grant him that. There was never going to be closure, because nothing came back. Nothing but the lingering uncertainty that would stay with them forever.

_You really did know how to break someone good, didn’t you, Carmen?_

“What if she’s still alive?” asked Soris, voicing the same dangerous feelings she wished she didn’t have as well.

The two walked away from the Vhenadahl and she shot him a glare. “ _Don’t._ ” 

“No, but-”

“Carmentine is _dead,”_ she snapped. “The sooner we accept that, the faster we can get back on our feet. She couldn’t protect us forever. We both knew this.”

Soris was about to say something, but closed his mouth a second later, deflating in defeat. 

No, her cousin was gone precisely because they couldn’t protect themselves. She was gone because nobody here stood up for anything. Not when Vaughan and his men came, nor any of those times before. Not even Hahren had the will to do anything. The only ones who tried were Soris and Carmen's _betrothed,_ of all people. A stranger from Highever had more bravery than any of them, and he paid for his life. Carmen was right. They couldn’t live like this anymore. She was forcibly taken from them all because she had the audacity to fight back. 

_How many more will die because you wish to fight back too?_ Shianni shook her head. _No, stop thinking like that._ This fear was exactly why they were in this position in the first place. The fear of doing something wrong. The fear of having dignity. They’ve allowed themselves to be cowed for too long. It was only a matter of time. Carmen's death was yet another reminder to everyone of how much the humans took from them. The elders might still be adamant on remaining passive, but Shianni could see the anger boiling in the others. The younger ones who still had the will to fight. And they _would_ fight. It wasn't a matter of if, but of when.

Soris leaned against a fence with his arms crossed, looking thoughtful. “What do you think she’d do if she saw us now?” 

It was a serious question, but Shianni found herself letting out a snort. “She’d probably just laugh at how pitiful we all look.” Indeed, Carmen would’ve wanted to put the ‘fun’ in funeral, complete with rowdy bagpipes and hard liquor. 

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that as well. 

A poor bastardization of _In Uthenera_ was being played in the distance on an out-of-tune lute and a cheap pipe, because none of them could remember the lyrics, nor did anyone have the coin to travel to the Dalish and ask for them. 

* * *

_‘The Grey Wardens know the truth._ ’

They were alive. Loghain slowly paced around the fireplace, seething at the words and their implications. It had come to his attention that two Wardens had survived the battle of Ostagar. A very unfortunate outcome. He had expected all of them to have died and so this was most troublesome. It was something he would have to deal with, and quick. The last thing he needed were more people undermining his rule as the darkspawn were knocking on their doors. No, this was no Blight. There had been no signs of an Archdemon for months, and the Wardens’ incompetence made him hesitant to even believe them. After all, it was that incompetence that led the king to his death. Cailan was a fool to trust them. 

“I bring word, sire,” Howe said, approaching him. “There are demands from the Bannorn that you step down as regent. They are said to be gathering their forces, as are your allies.” He put his hands behind his back. “It seems there is to be a civil war, after all, _despite_ the darkspawn. Pity,” he said flippantly.

Loghain's grip on his chalice of wine tightened and he scowled at the fire, watching the flames dance in front of his eyes before taking another sip, lips curling at the strong taste. Ferelden was being torn apart by those beasts, and those simpletons would rather start a civil war. They didn’t know a knick about fighting for this country, for they had grown fat from their vanity. They didn’t have the _will_ to do what was required. 

“The two Wardens will be an unnecessary thorn at your side, unless we take measures to deal with them now, rather than later,” Howe continued. “I’ve arranged for a...solution. With your leave.”

Loghain turned to see Howe bring in an elven man clad in leather armour and armed with daggers. 

“The Antivan Crows send their regards.”

He frowned at the elf, then to the arl. “An _assassin?”_

“Against Grey Wardens, we will need the very best,” Howe replied smoothly. 

“And the most expensive,” the Crow added with a smirk. 

Loghain was always hesitant when it came to that line of work. It simply wasn’t his style. But he had pissed in everyone’s drinks, and needed to start cutting the loose ends if he wanted to begin his crusade to unite Ferelden. Sending someone to poison Arl Eamon was already the start of that. That old man and Teryn Cousland were the only ones with the political power to challenge him on his order of retreating at Ostagar, and with the latter dealt with by Howe, his job was made that much easier. 

_Oh, Maric. What would you think of me now?_

Memories of Cailan as a child made his armour feel heavier on his shoulders, and he suddenly felt very old. That boy used to ask for rides on his back, laughing with such joy, it managed to sway even him to crack a smile. It was a laugh of a free Fereldan, unsullied by a dictator of the west. Days spent fencing under the summers of Solace before lessons of horse-riding were some of Loghain’s fondest memories with the boy. Maric would tell his son that every corner of Ferelden would belong to him someday. He would tell him tales of the Grey Wardens and their heroic deeds. What a shame that such tales had spoiled Cailan with the sweet promise of glory.

Loghain remembered that night well. The way the light from the beacon sprung up like a rising star, and the gut-wrenching feeling of what he had to do. Loghain remembered that jovial, golden-haired boy, running up to his arms as a child exclaiming ‘uncle!’, all the way up until he called the retreat. The words had left his mouth dry with bitterness and at that point, he had already turned his eyes away from the battlefield, not daring to find his nephew who would inevitably join the hundreds of corpses across the bloody clover fields. 

_I promised you I would protect him, Maric, and I tried. But I could not save that boy from himself. You must understand._

The letter he had found in Cailan’s chest would be his greatest insult, one he refused to ignore. Disappointment wouldn’t even begin to describe how he felt that day for the king he saw as a nephew for years. It was a feeling much worse than that. Something he wouldn’t dare tell his daughter either, because he knew it would break her heart. She didn’t deserve that. Loghain would shed no tears for Eamon, that was for certain. He had come too far and sacrificed too much to turn back now.

Howe and the assassin stood watching, patiently waiting for his decision. Howe's request to hire an assassin was a respectful courtesy, really. Loghain knew the man would send the assassin anyway, even if he declined, and whether or not Howe was as loyal as he appeared remained to be seen. That he had already acquired an asset from the renowned Antivan Crows proved he had his connections. But if there was one thing that was true above all else, it was that Howe was a cunning ally, and if he could use his talents to secure Ferelden by any means necessary, then so be it. The time to reflect on honour can be done after the war. 

“Just get it done,” Loghain ordered curtly, downing the rest of his wine.

“By your command," Howe said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uhhh, apparently, your city elf friends think you're DEAD during the entire duration of the game, and only find out you survived when you return to the alienage near the end. And that's kind of messed up? Like damn, imagine being Cyrion, mourning your child's death, only to find out they were alive this whole time. Also, Loghain definitely planned to abandon Cailan before the battle even started, and I will die on this hill.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	15. We Are the End of the World

The party continued to hike through the lands, and Carmen already noted the cooler air that greeted her more often as their days passed. They were getting closer to the edges of the lake again. It was a small mercy they had stumbled into Bodahn and his son all those weeks ago, for without their cart, their supplies would’ve slowed them down drastically. 

Save for the occasional darkspawn attacks, the trek was relatively uneventful. With her and Alistair’s ability to sense where the horde was, they were able to dodge them and prevent any unnecessary encounters. To fill the silence, Leliana had been telling tales for them to keep their minds off the inevitable hurdle they would face once they were forced to deal with the templars. Carmen wasn’t even sure if they would take the two of them seriously, much less if those treaties were still viable. Alistair and she barely looked the part of a Grey Warden, and she was hopeful that the accusations of the king’s murder hadn’t reached the Circle yet. 

“Although many elves today have lost their ability to wield magic, some believe every one of them still can, but only passively,” Leliana said, concluding her tale.

“What?” Carmen shot her a wild look. “No way, your drink's addled your mind! The only magic I know is how to make a coin disappear from me hands.”

“Hmm, ‘tis not such an outlandish possibility,” Morrigan began, having grown interested in the conversation from the side. “Flemeth knew of elves with innate abilities. They might not be capable of casting a simple spell, but they are still...extraordinary, for lack of a better word.” The mage had appeared beside the two after having grown tired from flying all day as a raven. “She knew of elves who weren’t mages, being able to bend metal with only their minds, effortlessly become aware within their dreams, or possess the ability to make someone forget a short conversation they just had.” She gave the Warden a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you should try it yourself. I hear those of the weaker mind are more susceptible,” she said, gesturing towards Alistair.

“Hey!” he cried.

Carmen chuckled with a disbelieving shake of her head. Hopefully, it was all superstition and wild tales that were as silly as bog unicorns and jackalopes. 

“How does your _mother_ know more about these things than my own Hahren back home?” she asked with a small frown. 

Morrigan shrugged. “She is not always as she seems,” was her only answer, as vague as the woman herself.

“You're the daughter of Flemeth? _The_ Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds?” Leliana asked with surprise. 

She arched an eyebrow. “Why, is that so unbelievable?” 

“I just...never expected..” Leliana struggled to find the right words for such a revelation. “They tell horrific tales of Flemeth, of how she’ll trick you into her woods and spirit you away. The last person I expected her to be is your mother!”

“Well, ‘Flemeth’ is a Fereldan name. I’m sure there are many different Flemeths out there,” Morrigan said flippantly.

“Oh, right. Fereldans just jump at the opportunity to name their newborn daughters after the infamous Witch of the Wilds,” Leliana said with a roll of her eyes and a smile. “You know, my mother told me stories as a child. She was the one who kindled my love for the old tales and legends. Did Flemeth ever...? ”

“Of course. You think she would let me go without telling me all the stories of her youth? Though I assure you, they are none of the sort you like,” Morrigan replied dismissively, already having a clear prediction as to what sort of stories the redhead fancied. “No princesses in tall towers or knights throwing themselves at whole armies, I'm afraid.”

“That’s not all I like!” Leliana protested, putting her hands on her hips. 

“No? Would you like tales of the Chasind Wilders who dwell in the marsh?” Morrigan offered. “Perhaps a tale of the poisonous creatures that lay their eggs on your skin so their young may eat you alive when hatched?” 

Leliana was about to reply, but Morrigan continued, cutting off anything she was about to say. “My mother’s stories curdled my blood and haunted my dreams.” Her words had begun in a mocking manner, but now, they had grown somber. “No little girl wants to hear about the Wilder men her mother took to her bed, using them till they were spent, then killing them. No little girl wants to be told that this is also expected of her, once she comes of age.”

The sheer strength of the woman's bitterness surprised her, so much that it left Leliana looking guilty for resurfacing Morrigan's clearly unpleasant memories. “I..um, I see.”

“No, you don’t,” Morrigan said flatly. “You _really_ don’t.”

* * *

The wheels of Bodhan’s carriage creaked with the sound of faint clinking glass, possibly the potions and supplies stacked neatly within, while the hoofs of the mule clucked against the hard soil of the border of Lake Calenhad. Carmen thought about adding another stead to the reins, if they ever wanted to go faster. Perhaps they could look to nabbing one if they ever reached Honnleath on their way back to Redcliffe with the mages. _If_ they made it back with the mages, that is.

“We’re making good pace,” Alistair said, and Carmen nodded in agreement. “You’re doing a good thing here. I just hope we make it in time to save Connor and Eamon.” 

“This Eamon means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” she asked.

“He does,” he said softly. “He took me in when I was very young. He was good to me, and he didn’t have to be. I used to resent the man for sending me off to the Chantry, but over time, I understood why he did it and I don’t blame him for it.” 

Carmen grew curious. “What about your mother?”

“She was a young serving girl from Redcliffe castle who died early on. But I remember I had an amulet…” he said, suddenly looking wistful. “An amulet with Andraste’s holy symbol on it. It was the only thing I had of my mother’s. But I was so furious at being sent away, that I tore it off and threw it against the nearest wall. It shattered.” Alistair let out a long sigh. “It was a _stupid_ thing to do. Eamon would visit a few times, but I was stubborn. I hated it there and I childishly lashed out at him. Eventually, he just stopped coming.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “You were young.”

“And raised by dogs,” he added. “Or I may as well have been, with the way I acted. All I know is that the arl is a good man and well-loved by his people. Maker, he was Cailan’s uncle! If there’s anyone who wants Loghain to pay just as much as we do, it’s him.”

“Don’t worry, mate. Eamon’s gonna make it,” she assured him. While Carmen never cared for the arl, she knew he was important to Alistair. It wouldn't be fair if they could save his son, and not him. Alistair had already lost Duncan. 

“Yeah!” Alistair chirped. “I mean, there’s no way _I’m_ gonna outlive him. That just wouldn’t be right.”

Beyond all the self-deprecation, there was real fear behind those words, and Carmen wondered how long he carried it. “Oh, stop. Don’t you go on like that,” she reprimanded him.

“No, really,” Alistair stressed. “My death will probably be the result of me being sarcastic at the wrong time.” 

“If it's any consolation, that makes two of us.”

From where they were, they could see the lake, its glimmering surface swallowing up the sun whole, and as the night drew near, the Warden decided they would make camp. Morrigan volunteered to cook in her place this time, being none too thrilled to have a taste of yet another one of Alistair’s stews. 

Carmen didn't have much of an appetite anyway, not when her mind was still haunted by the events that transpired at Redcliffe. In all her years, she had never encountered a curse most foul. All those deaths, an entire village worth of lives, endangered because a boy couldn't control his magic and struck a deal that was the equivalent of taking candy from a shady stranger. How would Connor ever grow up and live with that consequence? Did he even understand the full extent of what he did? It'd probably be a mercy if he didn't. Unadulterated ignorance was as much dangerous as it was blissful. As dangerous as fire can be. And like fire, if you didn't watch it, you got burned. 

But she was getting ahead of herself. She needed to stop dwelling. Carmen had gotten awfully proficient at it, but it did them no good. 

“So...” she started, casually sitting down beside Leliana, who was counting arrows. “You’re a minstrel, aren’t you? Heard minstrels were often spies.” Carmen could already hear her mother's disappointed sigh from the grave at her pitiful attempt at trying to sound slick. Her and her damn mouth. Really, not even she knew what she was trying to get at with that _spectacular_ conversation opener. 

After a moment without a response, Leliana stiffened. “Where did you hear this?”

“Oh you know...” the Warden replied with a playful tone. “ _Places._ ”

She must’ve come off completely differently however, as Leliana’s usual bright demeanor had changed to a much more reserved one.

“Well, not all minstrels are spies. Most are just honest men and women, telling tales and singing ballads,” Leliana said. “But others...are what we call bards.”

Carmen tilted her head in confusion. “I’ve always thought they were synonymous.”

“It’s true that many use the two words, minstrel and bard, interchangeably. But to do so in Orlais would cause misunderstanding,” Leliana explained patiently. “Not all minstrels are bards, but all bards are minstrels.”

She had rarely encountered spies that were bards in Ferelden during her mercenary work, but she was sure they existed. No doubt, their sparse encounters meant these spies were good at what they did. From what Carmen knew about bards, they weren't just musicians. They were storytellers too, and people listened to what they had to say, from commoners to kings. Bards had to know their history, even when they ended up being paid by some patron to commemorate some knight and make them into a bigger hero than they were. History was often told by the victors. But you knew you made it in life when the bards would sing songs of your exploits for years to come, immortalized in some way in those tunes and poetry. 

“In Orlesian nobility, there is much rivalry. They fight over land, influence, and the favour of the empress, discreetly of course,” Leliana added. “It would be improper to do so openly, so in public, they hide underneath smiling masks. But behind closed doors, they plot and scheme to destroy each other. And they leave the bards to do the dirty work in an attempt to keep their hands clean.” Leliana sighed with a small shrug. “It is a game completely meaningless to anyone but its players.”

Ah, politics. A poison to the soul more potent than Deathroot. There was no known remedy for it. Carmen rubbed the ring of her necklace with a thoughtful look, growing more curious about the lay sister's profession. “Bards dabble with assassination work then?” she asked carefully.

Leliana nodded. “On occasion, yes. Most are spies, as you say. Others employ seduction to get what they want, for not everything has to end in violence. Anyone can be manipulated with the right words. You just have to find what makes them click. For some, it’s sex. For others, it’s cheesecakes,” she said vaguely with a smile.

The Orlesian terms were foreign to her, and Carmen never bothered with technicalities. You either killed for coin or you didn't. The method at which you went about it and what you were called were irrelevant. Mercenaries, bards, assassins, bounty hunters; different clients, same kind of people. Some with more finesse than others or with different codes of conduct, but ultimately hired killers at the end of the day.

“For an unassuming lay sister, you seem to know quite a lot about bards, don't you?” Morrigan piped up from her work area, innocently chopping vegetables without looking up. 

The Warden chuckled. “Unassuming, my arse,” she teased. 

Leliana hesitated, surprised that the witch had been listening the entire time. “I reckon you've pieced it together by now,” she said softly, almost guilty at the admission. “But...the past is the past. I've left that life behind me.”

Morrigan swept the vegetables into the pot with a swift swat of her knife, before looking up with a look similar to that of a cat that had a mouse in its sights. “I’m sure all the lives you’ve ruined sleep soundly at that,” she clipped, watching with a smug smirk as Leliana refused to look at her. “I do wonder what you said to the priests during your penance. Ah, but I believe you cannot repeat what was said in confession, hmm?” Morrigan’s voice was kept light as she mercilessly grilled her for details, ignoring Alistair’s warning look, unbothered by it. “Fereldan's cloister was certaintly quite the choice of location.” 

She winced at the words. Poor girl looked just about ready to flee and it was a miracle that she continued at all. “I...found myself in Ferelden and sheltered from bad weather in the Chantry. And when the storm passed, I just...did not want to leave,” Leliana said, ducking her head. 

“You and Flemeth would get along famously,” the witch remarked dryly, narrowing her eyes. “Peculiar how enthusiastic you were at the opportunity to leave. Lothering got too boring after a while? For all we know, that forsaken village has been destroyed by the darkspawn horde by now, and you'd see it as a convenient way of covering up your own tracks.”

“ _Morrigan_ ,” Alistair hissed. “Must you always be such a bitch? _”_

“What? Nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun. Shall I instead be complacent while we may yet have enemies closer than we think?” she countered casually without missing a beat.

“You mean enemies, bar yourself, of course,” he shot back with a scowl.

Morrigan flashed him an indignant glare, shriveling her nose at him as if he was something stuck under her boot. 

Before she could make another barb, however, Carmen cut her off. “Stop,” she said tiredly, sighing through her nose. The last thing she needed right now was another hour of Morrigan being a colossal tit and Alistair fanning the flames. “Can’t get through one bloody night without you lot jabbing at each other, huh?”

Tiresome wouldn't even begin to explain it. All Carmen wanted was a peaceful night before the ensuing headache she knew was coming once they entered Kinloch hold, but she guessed her dear good friends clearly had other ideas. Eventually, she was sure her white hair would be as grey as any old woman’s much sooner than later, on top of losing another five years off her lifespan from this petty argument alone. 

The Warden pinched the bridge of her nose. “If I hear another damned word, Maker so help me, I will personally silence you both,” she stressed.

Her threat managed to stop Alistair and Morrigan from bickering until their throats bled. _For now,_ a nagging thought said. It would only be a matter of time before those two were sniping at each other once again. Carmen was starting to think she should leave Morrigan behind at camp when they enter the Circle, lest she said something that would get the templars to pull their swords on them. Now _there_ was a dilemma; have Alistair come along only for him to get them all killed because of a sarcastic joke made at the wrong time, or have Morrigan come along only for her to get them all killed because of a sardonic quip made at the wrong time. Not to mention she was a mage. One socially inept elf was enough. The two of them together going into that mage tower with her would only spell disaster.

Carmen groaned internally. _Just how the blazes are we going to unite Ferelden in this state, let alone stop the Blight?_

Leliana looked at the three of them sheepishly, and the awkward silence that settled into the camp like an overbearing heatwave was far worse than the one Carmen originally set out to get rid of. Indeed, she admitted that this nonsense argument wouldn’t have happened were it not for her pathetic attempt at small talk surrounding minstrels and spies, because _apparently,_ that was a controversial topic amongst some people. But Andraste’s tits, sue her for having wanted to make conversation with a nice lady. How was she to know that it would degrade into a hissyfit of petty accusations? 

She rubbed circles on her temples before walking away from the camp for some air. If only she had a bottle of brandy to drink her problems away right now, if only for the time being. _Maybe when I go back to Denerim, I could find myself another pipe and burn some elfroot._

Carmen gazed out into the lake from afar. They were high enough in elevation from where they were to see the light of the moon glimmering off the calm waves of the water. Looking at bodies of water always helped centre herself back. She loved sitting by the docks of Denerim at night, when all the sailors had gone home or had set sail already. It would just be her and a few late workers. Quiet, but not so quiet. It would always be accompanied by the gentle sound of waves crashing against the rocks in intervals, and the distant calls of seagulls returning to their nests. 

Such stillness would always be temporary of course, like it was now. Her ears picked up on footsteps, not as heavy as Sten's and it came with a metal clink with each step, so Alistair. No doubt, he just came back from another verbal battle with Morrigan, and judging from the hastiness in his steps, it was clear who won _that_ argument. Now he was here to vent about it to her. 

Before he could even continue on with his rant, Carmen already had enough.

“As I recall, weren’t you the one who called Leliana crazy in the beginning? And now you’re up and ready to defend the lass.” She crossed her arms at the observation, unconvinced. “Funny how things have changed.”

“I said her vision from the Maker was crazy, and come on, it is,” Alistair said guiltily at the arched eyebrow she sent his way, “but that’s not the point,” he quickly added.

Carmen gave him a shrug. “Don’t know what to believe no more these days, mate. Look what happened with King Cailan. His own general and _father-in-law_ betrayed him. Can’t trust nobody that isn’t worth half your knickers.”

“Oh, don't let Morrigan get to your head. Leliana's not a spy,” he protested.

“Maybe not. But I’d be a fool to trust anyone these days.” Carmen let out an exhausted breath. “Don't be naive, not now. Last thing I want is for you to end up like your half-brother. Think Morrigan wouldn’t want that either, albeit for different reasons, none of them having anything to do with being genuinely concerned for you, I’m sure,” she said with a chuckle, her expression sobering for a second before hardening again.

“We've only got her word that she won't turn on us, that _any_ of them won't turn on us,” Carmen explained. “Don't like this anymore than you do, but we've no choice but to give 'em the benefit of the doubt. You and Morrigan don't have to like each other. You can both tear each other's throats open once this mission's over. But right now, I need you all to work together.”

Alistair sighed resignedly. “You're right. Maker, you're always right.”

Carmen looked him in the eyes earnestly. “You and me, we're the last of the line. It's up to us now.”

He nodded nervously. “End this civil war while the whole country’s after our heads, on top of stopping this Blight before the darkspawn destroys all of Ferelden? Yeah, no pressure,” Alistair said, the high voice crack betrayed his glib confidence. 

She matched his nervousness with something of her own. “Enter a tower full of templars with _these_ fellas?” Carmen gestured towards the camp where her companions were, grinning back at her friend. “What could possibly go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan is a massive troll and one can hardly blame her.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	16. Kinloch Incubus

The sky was a beautiful mess, hues of orange, pink, and blues bleeding across the horizon like paint spilt on canvas. An ocean of mirrors, drowning out every reflection. Very soon, the sun would dip below and fizz out like dying embers, but Carmen and Shianni weren't going to miss that sight. Not unless they hurried.

“Race you to the top?” 

“Oh, you’re _on_ ,” Carmen said, cracking a wicked grin. 

The pair sped across the hamlet, past the brewery, through the alleyways, and into the open field where the Vhenadahl towered above the cabins in the alienage, stretching towards the sky like a tower, a testament to just how old the tree was. The wind was gentle, yet it still howled, as the foliage was swept across the ground that shimmered against the fading light of the sun, the leaves still wet from the previous night’s rainfall. Dew tickled her ankles as Carmen ran, little brushstrokes from the blades of grass that made a giggle bubble in her throat at the rush. 

The ascension up the trunk of the tree was no different than the hundreds of times they’ve done before. It had become second nature to them at this point. Which branch to grab, where to put your leg on to support the next stride upwards. From near the base of the trunk, Carmen relished in the feeling of bark and the surface carvings of runes against the palms of her hands. Mother had told her they were in Elvhen, but no one was entirely sure who made them in the first place. None of the elders in the alienage could even translate them. 

“Last one up there is a raging muppet!” Shianni hollered.

Carmen grunted, reaching for the next branch. “Heh, you ready for a feast? ‘Cause you’re about to _eat it!”_ she yelled, cackling as she did all the way up the tree. 

Her calf muscles tensed under the pressure and her arms strained with exhaustion, but it wasn’t long before Carmen reached the highest point she could go without the branch breaking underneath her weight. Seconds later, Shianni climbed up to the same branch she was now sitting on, out of breath with strands of her red hair tousled over her face. 

“I’ll get you one day,” she growled, wiping sweat off her forehead. 

Carmen let out a chortle and shook her head. “Keep dreaming, lass.” 

The two got comfortable with themselves on the branch, watching the sunset as the breeze offered to them a cool blanket that was very much welcome after all the sprinting and climbing. She picked a splinter out of one of her fingers contentedly, enjoying the peaceful silence. Carmen smiled to herself, but even that soon faded. It was an odd feeling she had. As if she knew everything was going to... _end._

Sure, she and Shianni could do this again tomorrow. The sun would rise and disappear back into the horizon like it always did, and the two of them would gain another batch of splinters on their fingers while they climbed their way to the top of the tree, maybe even with a pouch slung over their shoulders carrying two bottles of ale while they cracked a cold one as the sun set. But it would never be the same. There would never be the same shade of violet-tinged-indigo that scattered across the sky, glowing through the clouds until they looked like cotton candy. There would never be the same flight of doves that swooped overhead, disappearing into the distant rookery. They would never _be_ again.

As if having read her thoughts, Shianni patted her shoulder. “You don’t have to go, you know. We can stay like this, for as long as you want.”

Carmen shook her head with a chuckle. “Don’t be silly, Shianni. S'not like I’d know where to go.”

“I’m just saying, you still have a place here.”

Maybe she did. Carmen knew everyone else would agree with that sentiment. Her cousins, her father...no one wanted her to leave, even if that was what she needed. How did one go about telling your family that you needed to leave them for a while, not because you've grown tired of them, but because you needed to find yourself without the interference from people who thought they knew what was best for you? And what of the inevitable marriage? Carmen doubted telling her father the truth about herself would change his decision. Shianni was the only one she told; a secret shared in exactly the same spot they were in now, atop a tree and so far above everything else. But even then, she knew she would have to eventually come down and be a daughter again. Keeping your head in the clouds too long was not healthy. 

Shianni continued, “And besides, your mother would be sad to see you leave. She’ll be home soon.” 

“My mother-wait...huh?” Carmen paused, turning fully to look at her cousin. “My mother...” She tried to think, tried to remember when she last saw her mother. It was last week, wasn’t it? No, that couldn’t be right.

Out of nowhere, a strong gust of wind came from behind, howling like a ghost from behind, and the two of them both had to steady themselves lest they fell off the tree. The hairs on her arm stood on end. Carmen didn’t recall it ever getting this cold, and she visibly shivered, unsure if it was actually from the cold or something else entirely. 

“Hey, you okay? You look like you've had one too many drinks, cous'.” 

“What?” Carmen blinked, as her hands subconsciously went to fidgeting. “I’m fine...” she trailed off. Her hand suddenly came across something cold. Looking down, she realized she had been rubbing her necklace the entire time. On closer inspection, she couldn't fight the feeling that it was awfully familiar. It was fastened around a silver ring, smooth to the touch, too expensive to had been a gift. Stolen perhaps, but not something Carmen would usually keep for herself either. Not when she could fence it for extra coin. 

_When did I get this?_

Carmen dug into the deepest part of her memories to recall when she had happened upon such a trinket. Screams of a man echoed in her mind, and there was suddenly a smell that came with the silver. Carmen remembered the reek of blood slipping between her fingers as the cold metal pressed a searing brand against her palm. Maker, what was his name? This ring...it belonged to someone she knew. Someone from a past life, taken from her too soon to properly grieve. _Nelaros._ _My…_

“You know, maybe you should go back inside now. Besides, it’s getting late,” Shianni said, effectively cutting off her thoughts.

Carmen stared across with a furrow, looking deeply troubled, as if she had been hit in the back of her head. She narrowed her eyes at her cousin.

“No.” 

The response caught Shianni off-guard. “No?”

Carmen looked at her squarely. “Shianni, where is my mother?” Her voice was low and steady, a calm that betrayed the dread in her guts.

Shianni didn't seem to pick up on anything wrong, however. “She’s at the cabin, making dinner as always. Why?”

She took the words in with a practiced calmness, giving a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But you just told me my mother will be home soon.” When Shianni didn’t respond, she looked at her seriously and carefully spoke slowly. “I’m going to ask you again. Where is my mother?”

“Your mother will be home soon.”

Carmen could only stare blankly at the words, a concerned scowl forming on her face. 

“Your mother will be home soon,” Shianni repeated in the exact same tone. 

“Shianni, you’re startin' to scare me.” 

It was uncanny. As if she had been reading from a script the entire time and Carmen’s question had steered her off course, leaving her cousin with nothing new to say. Nothing that was genuine or real. A gnawing sense of discomfort enveloped inside her until she wanted to curl into a ball and weep from it. Attempting to recall the past was difficult for some reason, in a way that everything had become a haze. The harder Carmen tried to tighten her grip on her memories, the more they slipped away, leaving her frustrated.

She slowly shook her head, watching as the last rays of the sun disappeared. “No. She won’t be,” she said remorsely, partly to herself. “My mother’s not coming home.”

But Shianni thought otherwise. “Of course she will be.”

“She’s not coming back. Because...because...” Carmen’s breath became shallow and her heartbeat quickened, pounding within her chest like the galloping of a Chestnut. Then the faintest parts of a distant memory reached her, like sunlight piercing through a crack in a wall. It burned her, enough to make her nearly gasp in a pain deeper than a stab wound. “My mother is _dead!”_ she declared with a shout, and everything came tumbling down, the memories finally flooding back into her mind like a water dam broken. “She’s gone! They’re all _gone!”_

Tears welled in her eyes and she struggled to get a hold of herself, reeling from the revelation that had almost been lost on her. She pulled the ring of her necklace up in front of Shianni’s face. “This...belonged to Nelaros. He was going to give it to me when we wed, but he’s dead too! You know this, you were there.” Carmen sent her an icy glare. “Shianni knew this. I don’t know who the fuck _you_ are.” 

The girl she had thought was Shianni sighed. “Now now, let’s not get hasty. You are just tired, that’s all. So very tired. If you go back to the cabin quietly, I promise I’ll do better next time. I’ll make you so much happier,” she said, drawing out the words with a lazy smile. 

“No,” Carmen whimpered. “Get away from me!”

The warm and gentle facade of the girl suddenly twisted into something angry. “You wish to be difficult? Have it your way!”

Then, the face of the imposter split open in two, revealing a mangy mouth lined with fangs. Its flesh turned purple-black, the red hair falling away, and what was left was a grotesque amalgamation of burnt skin and a dark shroud. The creature let out a deep, demonic cry that nearly locked her muscles in place, reverberating through her skull like a roaring horn.

Carmen desperately shuffled away from it, and panic overtook her as she realized she was still on a branch high above the ground. Not a second later, and the tree began to topple. Carmen gasped, grabbing hold of another branch nearby so that she would not fall. But alas, her grip slipped and she fell like a bird shot out of the sky. But instead of meeting solid surface and being greeted with a dozen broken bones and a snapped neck, the ground cracked open until a giant rift of a canyon formed, consuming her like the abyss. 

* * *

“Warden.” 

She groaned. Carmen’s senses were a foggy mess, but one by one, they slowly edged their way back to her. Sound came first; the faint calls of a woman, the ringing in her ears, and the drippings of watery fluid. Then came touch and smell; the sensation of hands shaking her to awaken, of jagged rocks pressing against her back, and the smell of mint.

“Carmen,” the voice said, more insistent this time. 

Opening her eyes, the silhouette of the woman came into view. “Morrigan,” she exclaimed, voice a bit hoarse. “What a lovely sight to wake up to.” 

“You’re not awake yet, I’m afraid. Neither am I.”

Carmen sat up and immediately noticed that she was wet, covered head to toe in a blue substance which was the source of the strong crystalline smell. Her gear was to the side, unharmed and looking no different than the last time. What was last time, anyway? They had entered the mage tower, hadn’t they? Their request for the mages’ help had been held indefinitely, because apparently, a group of blood mages believed that the middle of the Blight was the perfect time to unleash abominations within the Circle. In a last-ditch effort to get their help, Carmen decided to delve deeper into the rabbit hole in an attempt to resolve the issue and salvage what they could. 

A terrible idea, she knew. But they needed the mages to save Connor. Not to mention, the mages’ magic would be invaluable against the battle against the darkspawn. At least, what’s left of any mages that were still sane and alive. She certainly hoped that the grand enchanter was counted amongst the living. After hearing that the templars had already sent for the Rite of Annulment, Carmen was left with no choice but to act quickly. They were already way behind schedule. 

Then there was the demon, the one responsible for having dared to play with her mind. It was all coming back to her now. They had come across it in one of the rooms of the tower, falling victim to its spells without a chance to fight back. Everything after that had become a blur. 

“What...? Where am I?” Carmen asked, rubbing her eyes. 

“Curiously, I happened upon you in a pool of lyrium,” Morrigan said. 

The Warden ran a hand through her hair, wiping her brow. “I was back home, in the alienage. Everything was so real. I could smell the scent of spring, feel the air hug my frame as the leaves tickled my shoulders. But then…”

“The illusion broke,” finished Morrigan.

“I _was_ going to say that everything went to shit, but yeah, that too.”

Heaving as she got up, Carmen grabbed her weapons and strapped her shield back onto her arm. After what she experienced, it was a relief that she wasn’t the only one who was able to break free from whatever dream she was locked in. No surprise it was Morrigan of all people who could see through whatever illusions the demon threw at her. It was sheer luck that Carmen was able to do the same. Had it not been for Nelaros’ ring, who could’ve guessed how much longer she would’ve been trapped. That is to say if she’d have been able to escape at all. 

But she should’ve seen the warning signs. The demon had spoken of her mother as if she were still alive, and Carmen mentally kicked herself for having not caught on right then and there. It had delved into her memories and pulled from them random fragments that it thought made sense. A happy lie that managed to pacify her this long, evidently so, which only served to enrage her now that she looked back on it. She supposed that was how dreams worked though, didn’t it? It was hard to become aware, so to speak. One could sprout another head, and that still wouldn’t be enough for the mind to say ‘ _Wake up, you’re actually dreaming!’_. But even the demon’s minor slip-ups were too glaring to not have shown its imperfection, and the red flags reared their ugly heads until the very fiber of reality collapsed in on itself, tearing down the theatre curtains.

“What did _you_ see?” Carmen asked.

“A poor imitation of my mother that was, remarkably, somehow even _more_ repulsive than the real Flemeth,” Morrigan answered in a deadpan voice. 

She arched an eyebrow. “Say no more,” Carmen said with a chuckle. “Where are we?” She scanned her surroundings, seeing nothing but an endless ocean of what she could best describe as _green,_ with an ugly shade of demonic discharge, if she had to guess. 

“This is the Fade. Or at least a domain that belongs to this Sloth demon,” Morrigan said, eyeing the colossal-sized rocks suspended in the sky. Or was it the ocean? It was hard to tell here, the surrealism all but rendering the both of them lost in its wonders. “Only mages become aware in their dreams, but even I have not seen this part of the realm before.”

Curious, Carmen took out her compass, unable to hold back her curious side with the need to find out if the Fade behaved in the same way as the waking world. But to her horror, she was introduced to a needle that chaotically swirled in all directions. It would face west one second, only to jump to north-east, like it couldn’t make up its mind. This continued without pause and Carmen could only surmise that there was no such thing as direction in the Fade.

“Where are the others?”

Morrigan held her fingers over the purple surface of a magical portal, her eyes teeming with interest. “If I had to guess, they’re still ensnared within the demon’s clutches. Though, that does make me wonder whether or not that old mage broke free _,_ if it’s true that she had passed her Harrowing all those decades ago. ‘Twould be amusing to see her still under the illusions,” she mused to herself.

Carmen stretched her weapon arm, staring out into the emerald horizon sternly. “Only one way to find out. We should split up and look for 'em. Who knows how big this place is.”

“Very well, I shall take my leave. I must warn you though, not everything you see here is as it seems.” Morrigan turned to look at her seriously. “Prithee, be careful,” she said, before disappearing through a portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was because of game limitations and the budget, but I wish Bioware made first segment of the Fade exclusive to the origin you chose. It seems out of place that the dream that would keep them complacent is the same across all the races, and not something more personal.  
> Also I never understood why Morrigan couldn’t break free from her dream, despite seeing right through the illusions, and that she was dependent on the Warden to free her….when the Warden can free themselves. If we could do it, it would only make sense that Morrigan could too. But that's just my thoughts, what do you guys think?  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	17. Leaving Limbo

It had to have been hours that she spent aimlessly wandering this land of spirits in search of the others. Though, it was difficult to tell. Time was convoluted here, she found. It had been a relieving happenstance that she found that mage, Wynne, yet another of Sloth’s many victims that wouldn’t be the last. Deeper and deeper Carmen went, spiraling down the maze of ghosts with naught but her eyes to carry her through the mirages. But could her eyes even be trusted now? Something about the Fade made her head hurt, to the point where it had become increasingly nauseating the longer she stayed. Breaking free from her own illusion had left her body feeling dizzy with vertigo. Like she was wearing someone else’s skin. 

Carmen’s escape had only served to enrage Sloth, however. He seemed to be everywhere at once, for it was his domain after all. Sloth was the twisted caricatures of people that inhabited the Fade to make someone’s dream feel less empty. Sloth was the moulding on the walls, peeling away with degradation as the fabric of a nightmare became unstable. Sloth was always watching, even now, while she delved between the corridors of spectres. 

Maybe she was imagining things, but it was as if everything about this domain did everything in its power to keep her in one place. For all she knew, she could be drowning in quicksand right now and be none the wiser. Time itself felt like a second thought. _Maker, how long have I been here?_ Only the gods would know the answer to that. 

It was 9:30 Dragon and they were here for help from the mages to stop the Blight. Carmen had to remind herself and was frightened that she had almost forgotten such an important purpose already. Walls and hallways in this domain shifted as they pleased. One door would lead to the illusion of an open field. Another would lead to a dead-end, only to have the door shut behind her. 

A distant figure caught her eye, and Carmen had to squint to make out whoever it was. Light shined from beyond the stranger, making it difficult to identify who the person was beyond a simple silhouette. Could it be another one of her companions? She prayed it was so, but no matter how quickly she walked, the figure only seemed to get further away. 

Carmen beckoned towards them, attempting to catch their attention. “Hey, you there! Can you hear me?” she hollered. 

The person turned after it heard her, and froze. 

Relieved, Carmen approached them. “Please, I need some help. I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself a bit lost, you see.”

But then the stranger slowly backed away, as if frightened of her. Carmen furrowed her brows, and before she could ask what was wrong, they stumbled away from her. 

“Wait!” she cried. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just need some…” Carmen sighed depressively, watching the stranger speed away from her with a yell. “...direction.” 

It was the oddest thing. As if she had sprouted horns and it was the most terrifying thing that person had witnessed. It was certainly a sight to scare them away so quickly that they disappeared into the light, never to have been seen again. What was it about her that scared them so? Perhaps Sloth intended to keep his victims apart by conjuring more illusions. Either way, this entire venture was hopeless. 

But as Carmen continued to walk the same path the stranger took, someone from behind called out to her. 

“Hey, you there! Can you hear me?”

Carmen’s stomach dropped at the words and her entire body froze. She slowly but surely turned to face whoever it was that called out to her with a nervous gulp.

They were a great distance away, but even here, she could see who it was, if the voice and the words hadn’t already affirmed her suspicions. The feeling that hit her next was one that could only be best described as dread _._ Pure, unbridled _dread,_ coursing through her veins with a bone-chilliing fire that burned harder than the taint itself. Carmen couldn’t even respond back, so stunned that she was. All she could manage was a weak and petrified noise at the back of her throat. 

The person came closer, revealing a woman in a blue, studded gambeson and silver armour, with a cuirass sporting the all too familiar emblem of a griffon. The platinum blonde locks were in a braid identical to the one she wore now, and her knees became weak at the frightening image before her. 

It was...well, it was _her._

But it couldn’t be! Carmen subconsciously backed away, gaping at the doppelganger with disbelief. As if it wasn’t terrifying enough, it continued to approach her and called out with the same words she had spoken only minutes before.

“Please, I need some help. I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself a bit lost, you see,” the imposter said.

That was all it took for Carmen to drop her train of thought and _run._ Logic be damned, she refused to stick around and find out what would happen if that thing caught up to her. It was another demon, no doubt, it had to be. What else would explain the absolute horror she felt while she watched her replica stalk her with the same insistence of someone who was desperate and lost? 

“Wait! I’m not going to hurt you! I just need…”

She couldn’t hear the rest of what it was saying, already sprinting away at a breakneck speed. But she didn’t need to. Carmen already knew what the words were going to be, and quite frankly, she was through with this cursed place. She panted, not caring that her chest tightened and strained, nor the jabbing pain in her leg muscles. She just kept running for her bloody life, as any sensible person would. 

Before she could catch her breath however, the floor beneath her crumbled and Carmen fell with a cry, plummeting into darkness. She must’ve been falling for quite some time before her face met hard, cold stone. Carmen groaned in pain, surprised she had even survived such a drop, while she rubbed the edges of her jawline. 

“Hmm, what’s this? _Another_ one, roused from the sleep of death?” 

Carmen tilted her head upwards, only to be faced with an ethereal entity staring down on her with as much indifference as one would watch a long game of chess. Getting up with a groan, she rubbed her head as her vision focused anew. Confusion took precedence over her mind now upon having basked in the sight of the violet phantom. 

“...What? Are you a demon?”

The entity ignored her. “You must’ve been falling for quite some time. You’ve seen past the illusions, but you are not free. Will you chew your leg off to escape the chains, I wonder?”

Its voice was androgynous, but strong, reverberating through her bones as it spoke. It regarded her with the same curiosity of someone that had happened upon a dead animal in the middle of the road. If it had a stick, Carmen was sure it would’ve started poking her right then and there. But all it did was continue to study her.

“What are you?” she asked.

“The little ones call me Hiraeth.”

Carmen narrowed her eyes. “You one of Sloth’s?”

It had no face, but if a spirit could look offended, then this one certainly managed to pull it off. “What, that lazy shrew? Contrary to what you may think, I do have standards.”

“Then what are you doing in his domain?”

“This is _my_ place,” Hiraeth corrected. “A tiny nook in a windmill that stands among an entire village, if you will.” The spirit hover-paced around her, inspecting what must’ve been the most peculiar organism in its eyes, coming from the perspective of something made entirely out of ethereal smoke. “You learn to make any place home once you’ve gone alone long enough,” it said with a shrug.

Carmen sighed, stretching her back. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t stay and chat. I need to find my companions. If you know who Sloth is, then you know what he’s done to them. Or what he’s doing to them.”

“That degenerate does a lot of things,” Hiraeth said with a dismissive wave. “But you...you smell different from the others. Sloth’s touch on your mind has planted a seed. I can feel it. Even now, it grows like fungi, and your veins glow in response to the old blood for the first time in centuries.” 

She stared in bewilderment. “You mean the taint?”

The spirit shook its head, giggling mischievously. “No matter. You shan’t stay here anyhow, lest you wish for your body to rot, along with your friends.”

Carmen grumbled, turning away in favour of searching for a way out of the secluded cavern she had ended up falling in. Conversing with the spirit proved to be fruitless. For all intents and purposes, it was probably deliberately trying to stall her in an attempt to keep her away from her companions. Carmen silently hoped that Morrigan was faring better in her search than she was. The witch had no doubt found Alistair and Leliana already, and the rest were waiting on her. 

The glow of Hiraeth's celestial body illuminated the liminal space they were in with only old withered books and the remains of skeletons to keep the two company. As did the small bonfire, its slow flames swirling calmly around an imbedded sword. For the time being, she could be considered safe. But she knew better. As nice and cozy of a refuge the place was, Carmen needed a way out, and fast. But the only opening she knew of was from up above where she had fallen, and that had to be at least several hundred metres high. 

She kicked one of the skeletons, watching the bones crumble like her spirits were about to.

“You like gimmicks, friend?” Hiraeth spoke up again. “Tell you what. You slay that daft fool, Sloth, and I’ll grant you a boon, as a treat.” 

“What? What’s the demon’s death to you?” she inquired with suspicion.

“Sloth is a nuisance that I would like gone. Is that not a sufficient reason?” 

Carmen contemplated her options and found that she had very few, if none at all. Time was of the essence and any second longer in this part of the Fade could mean anything. Everything _could_ be at a standstill in the waking world, but Carmen really didn’t want to find out whether that was true or not the hard way. Waking up to a tower full of dead mages and an annulment that had been long since satisfied would be catastrophic.

When her hesitance kept her silent, Hiraeth groaned. “Oh cease this dithering. There are no rules here, meatbag. _Take a chance!_ Throw yourself to the wolves!”

Carmen relented with a barely audible sigh. “Very well. What is this boon you speak of?”

But Hiraeth merely tapped her on her forehead lightly with one finger, and the small amount of magic in the touch knocked her backwards in a daze. Once again, she found herself falling through a portal. The last words Carmen heard from the spirit that could be considered as any form of an explanation was 'in time'.

* * *

Her hands were clasped in prayer, eyes closed while the Revered Mother watched over her, as she always did. “Blessed art thou who exists in the sight of the Maker. Blessed art thou who seeks His forgiveness…”

Yes, she sought for His forgiveness, more than anything. Perhaps this was where she was meant to be after all. No more silly dreams, nor hopeless ventures for a life outside of the cloister. This was where she belonged, repentance was all she would strive for. It was succor and safety, so far away from the terrible world outside those Chantry doors. It had been a true gift that she had even been allowed to repent, after everything she had done. Maybe the Mother was right about her all along, and those dreams meant nothing after all. 

“Blessed art thou-”

“Leliana?”

Her prayers halted and her eyes opened to see an elven woman before her. “What? Who are you?”

Before the stranger could answer, the Revered Mother answered for her. “I beg you, do not disturb the girl’s meditations,” she said with a hint of annoyance.

But the woman brushed her aside. “Leliana, it’s me. Carmen.” She spoke nervously, almost as if she was running on borrowed time. Her voice was tinged with desperation. “The Grey Warden,” she clarified.

Leliana frowned. She could remember no such Warden ever in her life before. The sight of the her put Leliana on edge. “Revered Mother, I do not know this person…”

Something about the woman was familiar, however, strangely enough. It was like having forgotten the lyrics to a song she had sung a dozen times over, misplaced somewhere between the consonants and inner workings of her mind. But Leliana couldn’t possibly know her. That would be ridiculous. Why would she know a Grey Warden? She hadn’t left the cloister ever since her escape from Orlais and the clerics had demanded that she dared not venture far. The possibility of going off with some Warden was simply outlandish.

“I know you don’t remember me, but I need you to trust me when I say that this isn’t real,” Carmen explained. “It’s all just a dream, an illusion the demon has cast upon you.”

Demon? Her confusion visibly grew, but once more, the Mother spoke in her stead. “Nonsense! You would trust this...this _elf?_ This is where you rightfully belong, child,” she countered smoothly. “Tell her yourself.”

As if in a trance, Leliana did as commanded. “I am...happy here. This is all I ever wanted.”

The Warden carefully drew closer with her hands open. “Leliana, listen to me,” she pressed gently. “We were in the Circle tower, fighting abominations. But Sloth took hold of our minds and sent us to the Fade. This woman is not who you think it is.”

“That is quite enough,” barked the Mother, the first signs of frustration beginning to mar her wrinkled face. “You will leave the girl to her meditations and begone!”

“I will not, for she does not belong here. You cannot cage her like you have caged the others, _demon_ ,” she hissed. 

The Revered Mother glared at the intruder with such disdain Leliana never thought possible to come from the old woman. She had always been kind and patient, but now, she looked as if she was willing to wring the elf’s neck herself. It was unnerving. Templars from afar had already been watching the scene unfold like hawks, silver glints peaking through the slits of their helmets, as they slowly made their way towards the Warden with their hands at the hilt of their swords.

The Warden seemed to have noticed them too, but continued to remain stoic. Before they could send her away, Carmen looked her in the eyes and asked her something she never thought possible. “Do you remember your dream? Your vision?”

Leliana nearly gasped. “How did you...?” She hadn’t shared it with anyone but the Revered Mother, and she looked at the old woman with an astonished look, before she turned to face Carmen again.

“Leliana, we’ve already gone over these ‘visions’ of yours. They were false callings, nothing but the work of demons,” the Mother chided.

“She’s _wrong_ ,” Carmen cut in. “Do you remember the rosebush? How it flowered, even though you told me it was dead?”

_Maker, how could this woman know? Unless...?_

She was stunned, and for the first time, the faintest hints of a tear in her reality went by like a flash of lightning that had come from beyond the fog and clouds. Leliana shuddered, still in utter disbelief. Who was she? The familiar stranger stirred something within her, something that only served to leave her confused and speechless.

The Warden took Leliana's wondrous look of silence as encouragement, ignoring the angry protests of the Revered Mother and the several templars making their way to her. “You’re not crazy, lass. You told me the dead bush had flowered, and I believe you.” Her voice was stern as it continued to rise. “Maybe it was a miracle, maybe it wasn’t. But dammit, it had to mean _something!_ You know it in your heart to be true. Don’t let the demons take that away from you.” Carmen’s face was pleading now, far too insistent to have just been a mentally insane stranger that had mistaken her for someone else. 

When was the last time someone had told her she wasn’t crazy, much less, believed her? 

“Cease this at once!” demanded the Revered Mother, eyes bristling with fury. “You cannot take the girl from us. I will not permit it!"

But if the old woman’s face was of wrath, then the Warden’s was one of hatred. “You are nothing but a parasite,” Carmen growled, “feeding on the things you can’t have! What is Sloth, but a coward?” Her challenge was the final straw.

The templars from behind advanced, drawing their swords with a sharp sound that echoed across the chapel walls. The candles flickered violently and the entire building moaned and creaked, as if it was coming alive after being disturbed from a restless slumber. But the Warden paid them no mind and only opted to pull out her spear, holding it at the ready. 

Carmen turned to look at Leliana for one final time, eyes softening. “You told me that the rose was a sign from the Maker. That it was His way of saying..." She ducked her head, growing solemn and her voice gentle. "‘Even in the midst of this darkness, there is hope and beauty...’”

“Have faith,” Leliana finished. Her eyes widened in awe, and she let out a breath of astoundment from the dawning realization. The elf smiled genuinely, and in that stillness, she remembered. “Carmen?”

“No!” the Mother snarled. Her voice distorted to an unnatural pitch and her figure contorted to a monstrous form. “You will not take her from us! She is _ours_ , now and forever!” 

The demon let out a bone-chilling shriek, causing Leliana to jump back with a yelp. The magic exerted from the demon sent a shockwave of energy that sent her sprawling to the ground, staggering backward in a state of panic. What happened next was a blur. 

The templars charged, and a clash of silver and steel rang out between them in open battle. But with the quick swings of her spear, Carmen had dismembered them one after the other, and the bard watched them drop lifelessly like sock puppets. A strange essence slithered out of the creaks of their armour, and what remained of their bodies were nothing but powdered ash. 

The last demon lunged at Carmen with its gnarly claws, attempting to hack away at her face. Unprepared for the sheer force of the attack and its strength, it managed to knock the elf to the ground in a pin-hold. The demon’s jaw opened to reveal protruded fangs, all but destroying any last remnants of the once holy image of a kind Revered Mother. One of its claws dug into the sides of the girl, and she heard a pained grunt and the slight rasp of material ripping. 

Leliana had nothing but mere seconds to act. Mustering all her strength, she took out her dagger and leapt atop the demon, digging the blade deep into where its spine was supposed to be. The demon howled and shook her off with such wild fervor that it sent her flying across the room. But with this distraction, Carmen was able to kick the beast off her chest and scrambled for her spear. 

In one effective thrust, the Warden impaled the demon through its abdomen. It let out a pathetic wheeze as it slid off the spear, dropping dead on the ground and dissipating into the ash-like substance much like the others had. She panted, rubbing her forehead of sweat and leaning against her polearm. 

“Holy _Maker!”_ Leliana cried. “That was a...a...”

Carmen nodded grimly. “A demon.” 

Leliana sat and shuffled back until she leaned against a wall, trying to recover from the shock, and she ran her hands through her tousled hair. Her fingers trembled vehemently and she clenched them in an attempt to calm her nerves. But before Leliana could stop it, tears blurred her vision, surprising even herself. It wasn’t so much as the kill that reduced her to this state, but _what_ had to be killed. Nothing in all her years of training had prepared her for demons, and what would’ve become of her had she remained docile. Was this what mages had to be potentially ready for every time they dreamt?

“I don’t...w-why? I don’t understand,” she said through sniffles. 

The land around her was spinning, a broken dream cracked to reveal a horrific mare with dark intentions. She didn’t dare guess what would’ve happened to her if Carmen hadn’t burst through those doors and found her. It had all seemed so real. Every scent, every feeling, matched with the heightened sense of false lucidity to mask what was truly lurking beneath the twisted face of a demon, revealing a carcass of vermin she had been too blinded to notice. 

The bitter taste of blood grounded her, and Leliana realized she had bitten her lips a little too hard.

Carmen carefully approached her, as if any sudden movements would break her, and slowly kneeled in front of her with her spear set to the ground. The previous fire in her eyes were gone, now replaced with something akin to pity. “Leliana...” she started, barely a whisper. “Look at me.”

She did, but she could hardly summon the will to speak, swallowing a lump in her throat as she forced her eyes not to stray from the woman. 

“I know your entire world just fell apart, but I need you to be strong. Please,” Carmen said, extending her hand out. “Come with me.” 

The look the Warden gave her was kind, but also sad. Her hand remained there, stretched out and inviting, patiently waiting for her. Enough space between them that Leliana could pull away if she wanted to, which she appreciated.

But before taking it, Leliana looked at her seriously, finally able to compose herself. “Promise me,” she beseeched. “Promise me that everything you said was true.” 

The elf said nothing at first, only regarding her with an unreadable expression. Leliana silently prayed that this wasn’t yet another one of the demon’s illusions that had extended long past its welcome. That what she was seeing now was real and that the source of her illusions had truly been slain. It was almost too good to be true, but even still, Leliana prayed either way. She needed to hear it.

Finally, Carmen spoke in simple terms, offering nothing more and nothing less. “I promise.” 

She closed her eyes, almost exhausted from the experience, and let her shoulders relax now that it was just the two of them. Leliana believed her, and nodded.

The Warden took her in carefully. “You’re alive, but are you still with me?”

Leliana understood what she was asking. Indeed, the nightmare had almost put her into a terrified frenzy, but her mind was not gone. Not yet. So once more, Leliana nodded, with more reassurance this time. “I’m here.”

Carmen gave her a warm smile. “Then let us leave this place, yeah?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Fade is finished, part 3 will be coming soon.  
> Apologies for the long upload intervals, I've had my hands full on a lot last week. Take this [piece](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com/post/624641705512157184/my-absolute-love-for-this-woman-cannot-be) I made of Leliana as compensation.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	18. Power and Control

A constant pounding and a high-pitched thrum; that was all she could hear as she struggled to steady her line of sight. Carmen didn’t know how far the mage had thrown her with his spells, but here she was, limp as a ragdoll with, without a doubt, several broken ribs. Any more strenuous actions and she risked one of the ribs piercing her lungs. Now that’d be fun. 

Ever since their departure from the Fade, Carmen still hadn’t shaken off her weariness. It was as if she had been in a coma for years. Like she had lived an entire life in those dreams, but only a day had passed in the waking world. She didn’t need to imagine what would’ve happened to her had she been kept in those dreams for any longer. Morrigan had found Alistair and the two regrouped to defeat Sloth in his domain. But plenty of poor sods that had been trapped before they came along still couldn’t wake, even after she had defeated the demon and freed the others. All that was left was a husk of a body with a soul that had been consumed to fuel Sloth’s dreams.

Now Carmen was strewn across the floor, far too exhausted to get up, much less lift her shield at all. Even a Warden’s heightened stamina had its limits, it seemed. Alistair laid against the wall with a broken arm and a spike impaled through his shoulder. Morrigan was leaning against her staff, coughing up blood, while Wynne desperately attempted to heal her behind a force-shield that was already dwindling in strength. And Leliana? Any moment now, and she would be torn apart by a pack of abominations. The bard’s bow was snapped in half and one of those things already had its claws encircled around her throat in a death-grip. 

She could do nothing but watch Wynne’s shield shatter and Uldred cast another ball of fire headed straight towards the old mage. The bastard seemed to have an endless supply of mana, fueled by the blood of the Circle’s mages he sacrificed. _Blood magic._ It was always blood magic, wasn’t it? 

She grunted, having felt a sharp pain shoot through her insides as the awful sensation of a broken bone brushed her insides. Like Morrigan, she too began to cough up blood. 

_No. Not like this._

Time slowed down to a crawl and Carmen was sure she was gone at this point. She would live out her final breaths, broken, spent, and covered in sweat until her consciousness faded away. But a light appeared in the corner of her eyes, and she saw a figure, watching her. Was it one of them owls? Carmen remembered Hahen Valendrian’s tales of Falon’din’s owls, and how they guided the souls of the dead through the Fade. Mayhaps the Dalish would know more, but now she would have to settle with the realization that she would never have the chance to meet those infamous wood elves. 

“Your debt has been paid, mortal, and I promised you a boon,” the figure said.

Carmen’s vision was blurry from the blood that had gotten into one of her eyes, but she recognized that voice. “...H-Hiraeth?”

The spirit continued, slowly circling her companions, time still suspended. “You’re not going to make it. Wynne...might have a chance, but her body cannot take much more. None of you will survive. But that does not need to be,” the spirit said, crossing its hands behind its back. “I could save you all _._ All I require is the briefest interval of control.”

Carmen scoffed. “You mean you wish to possess me. I might be kickin’ the bucket real soon, but I ain’t daft.”

“Nor do you have much of a choice, for that matter. Either watch your friends perish or let me in. I promise to leave once the deed is done. I have no desire to remain in such an inferior form,” Hiraeth swore. “Choose quickly, however. The world will not wait for you.”

Carmen attempted to heave herself up, only for her legs to immediately buckle as it sent another sharp jab of pain through her ribs. She cursed inwardly, slamming a fist on the ground in frustration. It was all too risky and far too good to be true. This was how a demon got you, wasn’t it? They waited until the moment you needed them the most. When you’ve become so reduced and demoralized, when you’ve been backed into a corner like an injured animal, with little to no options left but to die. Then they would come, and they’d offer a solution. Another word for ‘opportunity’ if she’d ever heard of one. 

But they were right. What choice did she have? Carmen knew what Uldred would do once she and her companions were dead. They would either become hosts to demons or have their blood used in more of his sadistic rituals. Ferelden would be doomed all the same. It wasn’t so much as death that scared her at this point. A few weeks ago, she would’ve seen it as an excuse to forgo her responsibilities as a Grey Warden. An easy way out, if you would. She knew Alistair would get over it eventually. He was a lot more resilient than he gave himself credit. They wouldn’t miss her. 

So _why_ was she considering the spirit’s offer? Perhaps the ridiculous hope that she may see her family again. That she could go home again. But it was futile, wasn’t it? Ser Jory had that same hope too, and look where that got him, the sorry fool. He had a wife and an unborn child waiting for him. Now his corpse laid somewhere in Ostagar, rotting away because no one was alive after the battle to give him a proper funeral pyre. All that, over a bloody goblet of nasty cherry juice. 

Carmen let out a defeated laugh and coughed, as more blood escaped her mouth to stain the tiled floor. 

_No. Not like this,_ she repeated. _I did not survive Ostagar, only to go out like this!_

“Just get us through this,” Carmen grunted.

The spirit smiled with satisfaction. “A wise decision.”

They said you could only be possessed if you invited them into your soul, whether that be intentional or not. Demons would do anything to get you to say those magical words of invitation. Carmen couldn’t tell if this was _the_ stupidest thing she’d done yet, but it was definitely on the top of the list. She was tired, however, and all she could do was let it happen. The Chantry would also tell you that possession was painful. That the demon would force itself into every fiber of your being until the real you was snuffed out, leaving a shell of the former person. 

A chilling thought, but they would be wrong. The sensation felt, dare she say, wonderful. Carmen didn’t realize how strained her shoulders were until someone else lifted them for her, even if that ‘someone’ was a spirit. Or was it a demon? They were so very much alike these days. It was awfully unironic that they had originally set out for the mages’ help in an attempt to exorcise a possessed boy, only for her to end up being possessed in the end as well anyway. Every time Carmen thought things couldn’t get worse, the Maker would land her on her arse. 

Hiraeth willed her body to stand and in that instant, Carmen felt rejuvenated. More rejuvenated than she had felt in _years._ Her stamina returned with inhuman speed, and power welled within her blood, pulsing, pounding, pushing towards... _something._ The faintest tingles flowed through her veins like electricity, until something akin to just that started to dance at the tips of her fingers. 

Carmen’s eyes widened at the sight of energy forming around her, until said energy was released in a deafening shockwave that pushed every person and abomination in the room off their feet. Panic rose in her throat at what she had just witnessed, but at this point, Carmen had lost complete control of her movements and her consciousness had already begun to slip away. Now, at least for the time being, Hiraeth was all that remained. 

Her companions were unharmed from the blast, most of them merely knocked out cold from the sheer force of the spell she unleashed. The possessed Warden conjured another well of magic, sending bolts flying towards the abominations until they were fried to a crisp, their deformed corpses all but bubbling and melting away from the heat. Uldred stumbled upon the stone floor, surprised and enraged simultaneously at Carmen’s sudden rise in power.

“No! I will not relent!” cried Uldred. “I have torn the wings from demons and sewn them into my own flesh. Never again shall I submit!”

Drawing all the blood from the dead bodies, the mage transformed into a monstrous, behemoth-sized beast. Purple scales covered his physique, an appearance that only seemed to resemble a mountain with sharp, jagged thorns. What was once a human’s head was replaced with a horned demon’s, with seven beady eyes as black as the abyss itself. Hiraeth recognized the monster all too well.

_Pride._

The demon summoned an immense surge of electricity sent towards the Warden, but she met it with one of her own. Violet clashed violently with blue, and the room lit up with so much energy and static, Hiraeth could feel Carmen’s hair rise. Pride let out an infuriated roar that was loud enough that it reverberated the tower, but Hiraeth was stronger. Dodging the demon’s next spell with a side step, the Warden sent a powerful bolt of lightning towards it from both her hands, so strong the blast was, that the thunderclap caused debris to fall and punched a hole right through the pride demon’s chest.

With that, Pride’s physical manifestation slowly broke away like falling rocks to reveal a heavily disfigured mage, the skin still covered in grotesque demon scales and horrific scars. Uldred was dead. But that couldn’t have been more inaccurate. Uldred had been dead for a while now, his humanity stripped away and consumed by the demon long before Carmen and her companions had entered the tower. With the task complete, Hiraeth slithered out of the Warden to return to the Fade, as promised. 

Carmen rubbed her head, groaning in pain. Her vision and surroundings returned, the presence of a spirit within her all but gone without a trace. All she could remember was blacking out in the middle of the fight when she let that spirit in. Was it truly gone? Carmen was almost too scared to find out. All she could feel were the after-effects of a powerful spell that went off and the pungent aroma of sulphur. She gasped, remembering what she saw before her mind retreated while the spirit took hold. Carmen inspected her hands with a sense of fear, unsure if it was all just a trick of the eye. But before she could confirm her suspicions, the first signs of her companions recovering drew her attention. 

“Is it...is it over?” Alistair asked nervously, holding his left arm with a grimace. His hair was a mess, face bruised and covered in his own blood, and he was limping. 

Morrigan heaved. “How lovely,” she said sarcastically, but even she was out of breath and too weary to make any further comments. 

Wynne was busy mending Leliana’s wounds, if only to stop the bleeding, and Carmen took pleasure in knowing her companions would be fine for the time being. With that knowledge, she slumped back down on the ground, panting softly as she dared to close her eyes. Unfortunately, her rest would have to be cut short. First Enchanter Irving and the surviving mages approached the party, a little worse for wear, but still alive nonetheless. 

“I suppose I should thank you for our lives,” Irving said weakly. 

Carmen, still on the ground, spoke without a glance towards the old mage. “If you know what’s good for ya,” she grumbled. 

“What I think the Warden means,” Wynne interjected gently, “is that we’re all glad it’s over and that you’re alright.” 

“I’ve been better,” he admitted honestly. “But I think it’s high time we got back to Knight Commander Gregoir. I’m sure he’ll be...overjoyed.” His worn-out tone betrayed his words of excitement, of course, and Carmen found herself sharing that sentiment. 

By the time they had finally gotten to the first floor where the rest of the mages were, they were ecstatic to see Wynne still breathing. A few of the younglings rushed up to her and pulled at the hems of her robes, asking for details of what went on at the top of the tower. Because apparently, the fight had been so loud and intense, that they claimed the entire building itself had quaked. Like a thunderstorm had happened itself within the confines of the Circle. At this point, Carmen was starting to think that was exactly what happened, no exaggerations needed. 

She was still worried about what that damned spirit had unleashed within her. Carmen kept shooting nervous glances towards the first enchanter, for he was the only one who wasn’t knocked unconscious from the magical blast and had witnessed the entire battle. But that would have to be a headache she would contend with afterwards. _Definitely_ afterwards. Carmen still had to deal with the templars, and who knew if that Gregoir would keep his word. He had told her that seeing Irving alive and well would be enough to revoke the Rite of Annulment, but those templars could go back on their word any time they pleased these days. Sometimes, Carmen wished Alistair would take some charge in this type of environment. _He_ was the ex-templar after all, yet he did everything he could to avoid interacting with the knight commander. She let out a huff.

“I will never understand why you decided to help these pathetic excuses for mages,” Morrigan said to her, as she watched Wynne from afar with curled lips. “For a senior mage, you’d think she’d have been able to resist the demon’s temptations in the Fade. It seems the Circle is not as effective as that old, preachy school mistress believes it is.”

Carmen sighed. “You could’ve been raised here too. Should I have left them to their fate simply because they had the misfortune of growing up in the wrong place?”

“I could be here, had my mother not shielded me from the templars, so I am to show sympathy?” Morrigan scoffed bemusedly. “They _allow_ themselves to be herded, mindless and obedient to their templar masters. Come time for their slaughter, they act surprised to be treated as nothing less than the cattle they are. If the sheeple wish to stay in their gilded pens, I say let them. Why a Grey Warden such as yourself insists on acting their shepherd is beyond me.”

Up to this point, Carmen had let the Morrigan's callous remarks slide without much protest, contributing nothing more than a begrudging nod of agreement simply so as to avoid an argument. But no more. There was only so many times Carmen could mutter to herself to _'just let it_ _go',_ and words left her mouth before she could stop them. “Mmm, your mother shielded you from a great many things, eh? A shame years of abuse wasn't among those things.”

Morrigan almost flinched, before biting back with equal fervor. “Necessary lessons, more like, that taught me the importance of survival,” she countered sternly, looking her squarely in the eyes. “To survive is to rise above the rest, adapting to the hand life dealt you.”

“Don't lecture me of survival,” Carmen growled. “I've known nothing else. The scars on my flesh would never let me forget.”

“Then you of all people should understand.” 

Oh, she did. But she also understood the importance of _thriving_. Carmen didn’t want to survive, she wanted to live. She had never been given that option before, and any chance of having that now as a Warden was gone. This was her life now, whether she wanted it to be or not. But maybe it didn’t have to be for others. She recalled the apathetic look Duncan had given them when Vaughan and his men had forcibly dragged them out of the alienage, and even now, it still haunted her. What was worse than hate, and had a bite sharper than a snake's? Cold Indifference.

Carmen glanced towards the mage children and was immediately reminded of the boy they had set out to save — Connor. These children must've been no older than him. It was times like these where she wondered if things would’ve been different if Isolde hadn’t hidden his magic. If Connor had been given to the Circle from the start, the situation at Redcliffe would’ve never happened, and who knew if they would’ve made it to the Circle in time to save the mages. It was the demon’s possession of Connor that prompted them to make haste to the Circle in the first place. But what if Connor was here? He'd be served a gilded cage, yes. But privy to the dangers of demons and abominations, instead of having to have learned that lesson harshly by becoming one himself. Not everyone had the luxury of being mothered by the all-powerful Witch of the Wilds, after all.

“Who are you to judge them? You were never ripped from your home, conditioned into self-loathing and fear your entire life, threatened with execution should you or others step out of line,” Carmen continued with no short amount of anger. “You were never given the bitter taste of punishment for the actions of the few.”

Upon her outburst, Morrigan stared seethingly in silence. After a moment, she let out an annoyed groan. “If you insist on being their guardian, then so be it. Just leave me out of it,” came her curt reply.

“Your empathy knows no bounds,” the Warden said dryly.

“Do not patronize me!” Morrigan snapped, before stalking away. 

Carmen sighed once more, too mentally and physically drained to chase after her. She knew Morrigan hated passivity as much as she did. To just sit idle and wait for death to come and take you without a fight. That in itself was a choice all on its own. Carmen had one day decided to fight back and had paid dearly for it. How much were these mages willing to pay for the sake of survival, much less, freedom? Some of the more desperate paid in blood, literally. But not every mage had enough to spare. The true frustration was why they had to pay at all. Did the Maker simply decide that their kind would be the helpless lambs and the templars the wolves? What stopped the livestock from growing some sharper teeth of their own? 

It was silly, but there was a stubbornness within her in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could at least be a better Warden than Duncan ever was to her. 

They returned to the knight commander, and Irving greeted Gregoir with a tired smile, still clutching his sides and limping. For what seemed to be the strangest of interactions Carmen had ever seen, a templar and a mage looked about genuinely glad to see each other. You knew the situation was truly bad when _that_ happened. 

But like all good things, it ended. 

“Uldred tortured the mages, hoping to break their will to become abominations. Who knows how many of them have turned. We cannot risk it,” rambled Cullen.

Irving looked at the young templar as if he was mad. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Predictable words coming from someone who might be a blood mage,” Cullen sneered. 

“The situation is well under control,” assured Gregoir. “I trust Irving’s word that the Circle has been restored.”

The templar fumed and looked about ready to draw his sword on the mages if given any excuse. “Don’t you know what they did? They may have demons within them, lying dormant!” He noticed Morrigan standing beside the Warden, and glared, taking several steps towards the witch. “Even now, there are apostates free to roam about!”

Morrigan only rolled her eyes in response, completely unbothered as she yawned into her hand. Nonetheless, Carmen stepped in front of her and gave Cullen a glare of her own to match his. “This one’s with me and is assisting me in stopping the Blight,” she said calmly. But her eyes all but spelt out the words left unsaid to him. _Back off or lose a limb._

“All apostates must be detained!” Cullen barked.

She walked closer to the man until their faces were mere inches apart, staring him down with so much fire in her eyes, that her companions had stopped to look at the two with trepidation. The room turned cold and felt almost as, if not more dangerous than the very room they had fought Uldred and his abominations in. Everyone could feel it. Even now, Alistair and Leliana already had their hands on their weapons, just in case. 

“You know,” Carmen started, “one of these days, someone’s going to give you a nasty scar on that pretty face of yours, _boy._ ” Her face darkened, but the wicked, carefree smile remained. “Would you like that sooner rather than later?”

Before things could escalate, Gregoir cut off Cullen’s protests. “Enough. I am the knight commander here, and I have already made my decision,” he said with authority. “Stand down.”

Cullen sputtered, “But Knight Commander-!”

“I said _stand down_. That is an order.” It was clear that that was a finality and nothing would change his mind, so the templar begrudgingly nodded and angrily returned to his post.

Gregoir turned to the Warden. “Thank you. You have proven an ally to the mages, as well as the templars. I’m afraid I will have my hands full for quite a while. In the meantime, speak to First Enchanter Irving if it is the mages’ help you seek.”

“Appreciated,” she said curtly. 

They watched the knight commander leave, swiftly throwing orders at his men to do a sweep of the tower and to search for any survivors. Everyone else’s shoulders seemed to sag as they were left to their own devices, finally able to have time to at least breathe for a minute. 

“Well,” Alistair said with a rub of his hands, “that...could’ve gone a lot smoother.” 

Carmen groaned tiredly. “That’ll be written on my gravestone.”

He snorted. 

“His hatred of mages runs so deep,” Leliana said, shaking her head. “He has been tortured, both mind and body. I could tell. You don't think straight after going through something this traumatic.”

“Right, let's just hope he isn't so traumatized that he'll defy the knight commander's orders,” Alistair chirped.

The first enchanter was an agreeable enough man, but he looked as ragged and weary as the rest of them were. One could hardly blame him. How long Irving had been subjected to Uldred’s machinations, she would never know. He swore to them that when the time came, the Grey Wardens would have the mages at their side come time when they would take the fight to the darkspawn. With the Circle now under control, Wynne had also volunteered to join the Warden’s party. Much to Morrigan’s great displeasure, the senior mage was now another companion that would travel with them, insisting that there was still plenty of life in those old, rickety bones yet. 

Carmen could only see that as a good thing. Wynne was quite proficient with healing spells, having mended all their injuries just so that they could walk more than three steps again without their legs giving out. The benefits of having a healer on board was monumental. But there was one more thing they needed before heading back to Redcliffe.

“First Enchanter,” Carmen began, trying to find the right words. “I know it’s been a long night, but I have an urgent request I must ask of you. There is a boy, the son of the arl of Redcliffe. He has...been possessed by a demon.”

Irving closed his eyes with a nod. “And you wish for an exorcism and need the mages to do so,” he guessed.

“It is as you say.” 

“I will not lie, this will be difficult,” Irving said, scratching his brow. “But you have gone above and beyond to save our lives. We will do whatever we can to help you in any way, you have my word.”

Carmen breathed out a sigh of relief and thanked him profusely.

“Then we leave in the morn,” she said, as she turned to her companions. “I think we could all use a rest, regain our strength a bit first. But once we’re ready to go, we’ll have to depart quickly.”

Alistair nodded in agreement. “There’s a tavern with a few rooms I think, down by the docks. But after what happened, I’m almost too afraid to go back to sleep again,” he said warily. 

“It’ll be better than sleeping under _this_ roof.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, I feel like I spend way too much time coming up with chapter titles. Should’ve just gone with roman numerals or somethin’.  
> Anyway, that’s the end of the Circle quest. Do you think Carmen made the right call? We’ll see.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	19. Untrust Us

It was only a few hours before it would be morning if she had to guess, yet here she was, awake and sitting at the edge of the pier overlooking the lake. It was always a treat to gaze upon a calm lake untouched by the wind, even if it was for the time being. The waves of the sea back in Denerim’s docks were always moving, rippling back and forth until the rocks were ripe with salt. Even during the calmer nights, there would always be wind, creating little swirls and sways in the water. 

Carmen missed the docks. She couldn’t believe she’d ever feel homesick for Denerim, of all places. But here she was, missing the chains that came with that awful city. They had fit her quite so, didn’t they? And _oh_ she had worn them _so well._ But now that she was preoccupied with world-ending tasks, it was odd not to have to run another job at the marketplace, guarding some merchant’s stall, or to take on another bounty, for that matter. It was a routine Carmen had gotten used to over the years. 

“Slouching is bad for the back, my good Warden.” 

She turned her head enough to glimpse at Leliana walking up from behind.

“Can’t sleep either?”

Leliana shook her head in response with a tired half-smile. 

Carmen gestured towards the empty spot beside her, and Leliana gratefully took a seat, adding another pair of legs in the reflection of the water. They sat there for a minute in comfortable contentment, watching the glimmer of the moon against the lake. 

“It’s peaceful,” Carmen said, “the lake...the _sea_.”

Leliana hummed. 

She went on, “Knew a neat little spot back home, where you could watch all the ships come and go.” Carmen let out a wistful sigh. “I always went there to calm myself whenever things got too...much.”

“I know what you mean.” Leliana nodded. “The peace and the quiet. I had found that in the cloister, and those days were good while they lasted.” 

“Ever wish you could go back?”

Leliana took a deep breath, before shaking her head. “No. I miss the quiet chant in the evenings, accompanied by the organ throughout the day. I miss the garden, the only place in Lothering that smelled nice,” she mused. “Most of all, I miss the comfort and safety within those walls. But I didn’t wish to stay. I knew I didn’t belong there, not really.”

“Sometimes we feel homesick for places we never truly belonged in. Even if it was better to leave it behind.” Carmen gazed into her reflection in the water. “Think I’m startin' to understand that more these days.”

“Ç'est la vie.” Leliana shrugged. “We take refuge wherever we can find it.” 

Perhaps that was all it came down to. For home to be wherever you lay your head. It was a nomadic lifestyle that offered comfort just as easily as it took it. Carmen wasn’t sure if she would survive long enough to return to the alienage again. Was it even her home anymore? Things were so uncertain lately, and her attention was quickly torn away in favour of more pressing matters. The thought of returning to Redcliffe made her ill. She hoped Sten and Blue were doing fine by themselves.

“Are you okay?” 

Leliana hesitated. “I...I’m fine.”

“No, really.” Carmen sat up straighter, turning a bit to face her. “We haven’t had the time to talk. What happened in that tower, we all went through it.”

“I think I’m just a little shaken,” Leliana admitted. “I owe you my life for saving me. If you hadn’t been there, who knows what that demon would’ve done to me.” After a moment, she spoke up again. “What about you? Did you have a dream too?”

Carmen visibly bristled at the memory. “Let’s just say I’d rather not go through that again. What happened in the Fade, stays in the Fade.” 

Oh, it was a lot more than just the dream that disturbed her deeply so. It was afterwards as well, and what had happened to her during the fight against Uldred. Carmen wasn’t even sure _what_ had happened. But what that spirit did had apparently saved their hides. Any remnants of its presence, however, couldn’t be felt and she prayed that all would be well. 

She decided to change the subject, lest Leliana caught on to her disquiet. “And I want to apologize. About before.”

Leliana looked at her with a confused frown. “What?”

“Before we entered the tower, I mean,” Carmen clarified. “Bringing up, well uh, you know, the whole 'spy' thing. And the things Morrigan said to you. They weren't very kind.” 

_Damn_ , was she bad with words. But thankfully, Leliana understood what she was referring to, Maker bless her. 

“Oh, that.” Leliana swallowed, forcing her eyes towards the lake. “It’s okay. I don’t blame her for being suspicious of me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over her. Morrigan’s like that with everyone.” 

That got a chuckle out of Leliana. “Yes, I suppose so,” she said, before growing serious. “Indeed, I was a bard once. But the thrill of the hunt, the espionage, and the Game; the appeal of it all wears off very quickly I’m afraid. I left that life behind,” she said earnestly, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince Carmen. 

Maybe that was that and she was just overthinking things, but for whatever reason, Carmen had the feeling that there was a lot more to it. She didn't know a knick about bards, but one did not simply leave that kind of life behind without getting their hands dirty in the process, she understood that much. Carmen wanted to know more, but she would respect the woman's wishes and not pry. Leliana had not pressured her for her reason for joining the Wardens, so it was only fair that Carmen allowed her the same courtesy. 

“Don’t have to talk about it if ya don’t want to.”

Leliana nervously played with the ends of her balteus and chanced a timorous glance towards her. “Do you...do you trust me?”

“No. I mean-” Carmen sighed, immediately regretting having opened her mouth. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

It wasn’t that she didn’t _want_ to trust her. But wasn’t manipulating and fooling someone to let their guard down the pinnacle of a bard’s work? Carmen wasn’t ready to trust her simply on the woman’s word that she had moved on from such a life. People didn’t just change on a whim. Years of conditioning didn’t just go away because a person willed them to. When you had been molded to be one thing for so long, it was difficult to be anything else but that. It wasn’t so much that the person didn’t want to change. It was that more times than not, they didn’t know _how._

And Leliana was a _human._

There it was again. The most basic and irrational fear that was borderline childish, but it was a fear that existed inside her nonetheless. Carmen could meet the kindest and most honourable human to ever grace this world, but some deep-seated part of her would still go ' _but human,_ _can't trust a shem to save a life'._ She hated how normalized that had become. But how did one go about trusting a human? Especially being a Grey Warden during these times where you had the biggest bounty over your head, and when the Blight forced everyone to be out for themselves. Even Alistair was kept at a comfortable distance, despite him being a decent lad and having no reason to turn on her. Maybe it was something that had become instinctive now, to never turn your back on a human. Carmen had worked with humans plenty of times during her years as a merc. Surviving in Denerim required that of her. But they were just that — associates. Nothing more than temporary business partners, and their loyalties followed where the coin went. If she knew any better, the demand for bards amidst a civil war were at an all-time high, and gold would be flowing through their pockets now more than ever. 

Just how many men and women did Leliana kill? It wasn't so much the killing that bothered her, but _how_ Leliana went about it. The manipulations and of planting oneself into the trust of your victim before a swift lethal blow, now that was a different league entirely that went beyond just killing. Morrigan’s words may had been harsh, but they were valid points she had come to acknowledge. How many lives were ruined by the machinations of a bard? Perhaps it mattered not in how one went about killing someone. Be it for coin or survival, the result was all the same. Murder was clear as mud. In a world without coin, they might had been honest folk. 

“It’s okay,” Leliana said, as if reading her thoughts. “I just hope...” Something sad passed behind Leliana’s eyes, and it seemed like there was more she wanted to say. But she decided against it and closed her mouth, that sorrow in her eyes gone as quickly as it came. 

Alistair loved to gossip, and while Carmen always rolled her eyes at the comments he made about the other companions with a silly headshake, she was starting to believe some of the things he said.

 _‘If you look at her when she doesn’t see you, she just looks so...so sad,_ ’ he told her once. 

What troubled Leliana wasn’t any of her damn business, but it was upsetting all the same to see the young woman's face marred by a frown. 

“Look, I don’t care what you did in the past. For the record, I don’t trust _anyone_ here, it’s nothin' personal. But I _want_ to give you the benefit of the doubt, because...” Carmen paused, breaking her eyes away from the bard to search for her next words. If she was being honest with herself, she didn’t really know the truth of why she wanted to yet. “I guess I just want to believe that everything happens for a reason. That everything will work out in the end,” Carmen said, finally settling on that with a tired shrug. 

Leliana gave her an understanding look. “It will. It has to,” she said. And there was that radiant optimism again. She leaned back a little, absentmindedly drumming her fingers against the wood of the pier. 

“And if it doesn’t?”

The corners of her mouth quirked up a little. “Then simply pray.”

The first signs of the wind began to appear in the form of small waves in the once still water of the lake. Then came the faint rumble of thunder. Leliana rubbed her arms, and she must’ve noticed Carmen was cold as well, because the elf shivered in response to a strong gust that had come from behind.

“You’re thinking about everything, aren’t you?” Leliana guessed. Upon the Warden’s silence, she continued. “I know things are hectic, but tomorrow is another day. The storm’s starting to roll in, so come on,” she said, standing up and lending Carmen a hand. “Come back inside.”

Against her better judgement, Carmen took it, letting the woman hoist her up. 

“Only if you tell me a story once we’re there.”

Letting out a breathy laugh, Leliana promised, “Of course, Warden. It’s a deal.”

Wooden footsteps quickly turned to soft crunches against grass as she followed her back to the Spoiled Princess. “Carmen,” the Warden said out loud, causing Leliana to look back and tilt her head. “It...would be nice just to be ‘Carmen’ sometimes, at least when it’s the two of us. Please.” 

Leliana broke into one of those rare but genuine smiles that made the elf look away bashfully. It was a silly request, but they both knew she needed it. 

“Carmen,” Leliana said with a nod. 

* * *

Come morn, they had left as soon as they finished breaking the fast. A few templars were sent by the knight commander to supervise Irving and the mages that would be accompanying them on their journey back to Redcliffe. If she had it her way, Carmen would’ve preferred another day for everyone to rest, for none of them had fully recovered from what happened in the tower yet. The storm had also increased in intensity, rain starting to have poured in from the south as thunderclouds slowly blackened the skies. But they were already running way behind schedule. Another day couldn’t be afforded.

“I did not thank you, Warden, for saving the first enchanter and the mages from Uldred,” said Wynne, coming up beside her. The old mage had resorted to using her staff as a make-shift walking stick for the time being. “You and Morrigan also freed the rest of us from the demon in the Fade, correct? You have my gratitude for that. The Circle would not be here had it not been for you.”

“Just doing my good deed for the decade,” Carmen quipped. 

The mage laughed. “I would certainly hope not. Ferelden will need more from you if it has a chance to survive. You are the last of the two remaining Grey Wardens, are you not?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I was there at Ostagar. What happened was a great tragedy,” Wynne said sadly, pausing for a moment. “I must ask though, are you well? Do you feel any different?”

Carmen gave her a questioning look. “Different? Not particularly. Why?”

Quickly shaking her head, Wynne brushed it off. “Just concerned, that is all. Uldred was not an easy foe and the battle proved to be quite difficult.”

She was right in that. Uldred and his abominations had nearly killed them all. It was too close of a call for Carmen’s liking. Much too close. When the Sloth demon forcibly pulled them into the Fade, the party was both mentally and physically drained afterwards, leaving them in a weakened state upon their confrontation with Uldred. A disadvantage that he clearly noticed and exploited all too well.

Carmen wasn’t exactly being completely truthful with Wynne. She _did_ feel different, albeit in the most bizarre sense. The closest way she could describe what she felt after the battle was that she regained something. Like finally remembering something that had been buried in the deepest depths of her mind, or seeing colour in a new light for the first time. Different sensations could be felt, while others were intensified. If she concentrated hard enough, she could even _hear magic,_ as batshit insane as that notion was.

Lost in her thoughts, Carmen nearly bumped into Bodhan and Sandal’s cart as it stopped abruptly with a whinny from their mule. Dazed a bit at the sudden halt, she raised a hand to signal the others from behind to stop as well. 

“Sorry!” Bodahn called back to her from the driver’s seat. “You might want to see this though, ser Wardens.”

Carmen, shooting a nervous glance at Alistair, grabbed her spear and told everyone else to stay behind while the two of them went on ahead to investigate.

At this point, the rain had increased to an intensity in which it was getting difficult to see. The sound of heavy droplets clanging lightly against their metal armours and thunder from the lightning filled the earth-scented air. At a fair distance away was a woman. Her hands were clutching her sides and she was limping towards them.

“Help!” the woman cried, slightly out of breath. “The wagon! Attacked...we..I-I need help, please! Follow me, I’ll take you to them!” 

Then she was off, jogging away in a direction towards a narrow path.

Alistair began to go after her, but Carmen stopped him with a hand on his chest, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? We have to help her!” he said. 

“Hold a moment. Somethin' about that lass rubs me the wrong way. Look at her.” Carmen pointed, watching the woman disappear into the path. “No signs of injury, nor is there any urgency in her run. Something's up.”

“Then what do we do?”

Carmen paused to scratch her chin, then promptly waved Morrigan over and whispered something in her ear. The witch’s brows raised for a fraction of a second, then a simper that spelled nothing but mischief appeared on her face. With a twirl, Morrigan transformed into a crow and flew on ahead of the group, leaving a trail of smoke where she used to be. 

“Leave the mages to guard the cart,” Carmen said. “The rest of you? Be ready.”

The group followed the ‘injured’ woman past the thicket and into the narrow passage-way. With her helmet on and the dramatic pour of the rain, it was difficult to hear of anyone that might be potentially lurking past the trees and bushes. Regardless, Carmen gripped her weapon tighter, preparing for the worst. 

Lo and behold, there were no such attackers that the woman spoke of, as they watched her stop at a wagon to converse with three men waiting for them. Two of them were noticeably human mercenaries. The one standing in the middle was a blond elf with a tattoo on the side of his face. 

He turned to them and unsheathed his daggers. “The Grey Wardens die here!” he snarled.

As if on cue, a towering tree-trunk came crashing down upon them, forcing them to dive and roll out of the way, right into the enclosure where they would be trapped. A dozen archers suddenly emerged from the hilltops overlooking the narrow passage, but this time, Carmen was ready. 

“Shields!” she signaled to Alistair.

The two of them raised their guards, effectively blocking the incoming volley of arrows. Meanwhile, Carmen couldn’t help but smirk as she spotted Morrigan appear from behind the archers. The witch conjured a spell that sent them flying into the passageway and to their deaths. With the men up top taken care of, they could now focus on the assassin and his mercenaries. 

Thwacking the arrows off the front of her shield with a swift brush of her spear, she and Alistair stood back to back in a low stance, easily deflecting the blades of the mercenaries. At the corner of her eyes, Leliana could be seen to have gotten herself up upon the hills and was firing with rapid speed, providing them ample amounts of cover that Carmen was grateful for. 

But their turtling would only keep them alive for so long. A mercenary that was about as tall as a qunari came charging towards the two of them with a battleaxe the length of his entire body. The force of the impact was enough to split the both of them apart and send her sprawling to the ground. With Alistair currently engaged with the elven assassin, the man with the axe turned his attention to her. 

Carmen heaved herself to one knee with a grunt, spitting out the dirt and smearing away the wet mud from her face. The man had already begun to raise his weapon, preparing for another cleave attack that would connect with her neck if she didn’t move now. 

With a quick dodge, she rolled out of the way to her side and punched him hard in the gut. But it was as if she made contact with a stone wall, for he continued to swing his weapon wildly as if he hadn’t felt the impact at all. Carmen unsheathed her xiphos, lunging towards the man. She jabbed the sword deep into the man’s ribs, twisting it hard into the wound. Still, he made nothing but a grunt and swatted her away like a fly. The mercenary grabbed her by the throat, holding her up with one arm before throwing her several distances away. 

Carmen groaned. “Bloody _tosser_ ,” came a mutter. But she let out a hearty chortle despite herself, a wolfish grin baring white and splashes of red. 

She felt blood on her lips again, threatening to spill down her chin. The man was fearsome in his heavy attacks, but he was slow. Carmen managed to duck another attack and rolled to where her spear had been discarded. The metal polearm was cold against her hand, even through the gloves. Something was rising in the air, enough to make her hairs stand on end. Then an idea came to her. 

With a bold leap, Carmen plunged her spear downwards into the man’s shoulder blades until it was kept in place, deep into his flesh and sinew. He screamed in pain, but promptly flung her off, of course. The mercenary didn't even bother to pull the spear out, and it was left there, embedded like a flagless pole. Just like she wanted it to. As she lay on the ground, watching him come ever closer to her, lightning flashed before her eyes for a split second that nearly blinded and deafened her. 

_**CRACK!** _

The electrical wrath of the gods violently coursed through the man’s body, killing him instantly. His heavy frame came crashing down and his body finally laid unmoving.

With the mercenary dead, Carmen scampered off to retrieve her fallen shield and rushed back to Alistair’s side. The elven assassin’s attacks were aggressive, but precise. Quick enough that Alistair had begun to tire. The two exchanged several vicious strikes, while Carmen sidestepped behind him, sneaking into his blindspot. The assassin turned just in time to see her, but by then it was too late. With a forceful shield-bash to the face, he was knocked out cold. 

The last of the mercenaries were taken care of by the rest.

Alistair panted. “Well, that’s the end of that.”

“The assassin still lives,” Morrigan observed.

Carmen studied his unconscious form, pondering about what to do with him. 

“Make camp and tie him against a tree,” she said. “If the lightning doesn’t kill him, then he’ll talk when he wakes.”

* * *

They were in the process of setting up the tents when she spotted Alistair and Leliana return from looting the corpses of the mercenaries clean. The storm had finally calmed down by now, dousing the party with nothing more than just a light drizzle until naught but water droplets dripping from the leaves of trees remained. At last, they were able to start a bonfire.

“How’d you know?” Alistair asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

She sat on a log, pulling out an apple and her knife. “Know what?”

“That it was an ambush.”

Carmen cut a slice of the fruit. “I’ve been on both sides,” she said simply, not looking up, and plopped the slice into her mouth. She let him figure out what the words implied on his own. 

Leliana pulled her bow over her shoulders and dropped her quiver of arrows beside her. She also came with a bundle of bandages. The two had somehow fallen into a healthy routine where after every battle Carmen would get hurt, which was practically _all the time,_ Leliana would bandage whatever wounds she had. Best to avoid infection was the bard's excuse. Over time, she found that she didn't mind. 

Curious herself, Leliana asked, “Did you do that often?” 

The woman had returned with a rag and bowl of water. She soaked the rag and wrung out the water, tapping at a small but angry cut that ran down the elf’s eyebrow.

Carmen winced. “Often enough.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

She shook her head, her face softening. “It’s fine.” 

Faint groans signaled the awakening of the assassin. They all looked up from their tasks at him, while Carmen stood to approach him. The elven assassin strained against his bonds, muttering in a language she didn’t recognize. 

Tired eyes blinked open, slowly darting everywhere. It seemed as though he was rather surprised he was alive at all. “I expected to wake up dead,” he said bemusedly. His gaze then landed upon her. “Ah, you must be the Grey Warden.”

Carmen narrowed her eyes. “Have we met?” she asked dryly. 

“We have now,” the assassin said with a smirk. “Shall I guess your intent? If it is answers you seek, then let me save you the time and get straight to the point. My name is Zevran. Zev to my friends. I am, or _was,_ an Antivan Crow hired by Loghain and Howe to slay the last Grey Wardens of Ferelden.” 

“I know of the Crows,” Leliana chimed in. “They are an order of assassins outside of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done...so to speak.”

“And rather eager to spill the name of his employers,” Carmen remarked.

Zevran laughed. “And why wouldn’t I be? I wasn’t paid for my silence,” he replied smoothly. “Seeing as you kept me alive for the time being, might I be allowed to offer a proposal?”

Carmen nodded curtly in affirmation. 

“Here’s the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is now forfeit. If I do not die by your blade, it will be by the Crows’. On the other hand, I’d rather continue living, and you’re obviously the sort to give the Crows pause. So, let me serve you instead.”

Alistair guffawed. “Absolutely not!” he responded hotly. He turned to Carmen and looked at her squarely. “He’s an assassin who just tried to kill us! You’re not honestly considering letting him live.”

“Indeed, what’s stopping you from finishing the job later, once a situation presents itself?” Carmen asked rhetorically to the assassin. “You must think I’m royally stupid.”

“I think you’re royally tough to kill. And utterly gorgeous,” Zevran said with a sly twinkle. “But to be completely honest, I was never really given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. Even if I did kill you now, they'd kill me just on principle for failing the first time. I’d rather take my chances with you.”

“Hmm.”

Leliana was unsurprisingly the first one to speak on his behalf. “An Antivan Crow would be a great asset in our group. If it’s anyone who knows how to dodge future assassination attempts from them, it’s him.”

“You see? I can do a lot more than stand around and look pretty. Though of course, I’m not against doing just that if you so wish for it,” Zevran added. 

Carmen’s face remained apathetic. Having a Crow on their side _would_ be useful. Despite his attempt on their life ending in failure, she had to admit he was skilled to some extent. If she and Alistair's bounty had gotten high enough to warrant hired professionals, then what better way to survive than to have one on their side? They always said to keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Oh and this one was a cocky one, but dammit, was he charming. _And he bloody well knew it, the son of a bitch._

“Fine.”

Alistair whipped his head to her. “Fine?”

“He’s comin' with us,” Carmen declared. 

“Uhh, did you miss the part where he almost killed us? Or the fact that he's a murderer for coin, to boot?”

“I killed for coin once too. Suppose the Grey Wardens won’t be needing me then? I'd be happy to leave,” she countered glibly. “Can’t have low-lives and _degenerates_ like us savin’ this country.”

Alistair looked at her guiltily. “You know that’s not what I meant. I...”

“Last I heard, the Grey Wardens take in anyone; even cutthroats, thieves, and murderers.” Carmen felt bad for jabbing at him. She knew he didn’t mean it like that. But her weariness combined with the weather was absolutely not helping with her mood today. “We’ve all done things just to survive, Alistair,” she said, catching Leliana's abashed look.

He sighed, raising his hands. “Alright, alright. But if there was any sign we were desperate, I think we just about made that more abundantly clear than ever.”

It was one of those days where Carmen came to realize just how insane their situation already was, what with being hunted in a country they were trying to save, and the fact that their party already consisted of deviants, so the addition of an assassin was less troubling to her than it should've been. A testament to how far down the standards had gone, really.

Leliana mustered a warm look. “Welcome, Zevran. Having an Antivan Crow join us sounds like a fine plan.”

“Ah, and you are another companion-to-be then? I wasn’t aware such loveliness existed amongst adventurers,” Zevran said, shooting her a wink. 

“Careful, chap. Any wrong moves and you’re finished,” Carmen warned. 

“Oh? I did not realize this red-headed beauty was already spoken for. My sincere apologies.” 

“She’s not...I’m not-” Carmen let out a long, painful sigh. _He’s baiting you, ya dolt._

Even Leliana had a shy little smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth despite the faint flush.

“It’s quite alright, I understand completely,” Zevran said.

He had that look in his eyes. _That_ look. The kind Daveth used to give her whenever he was teasing her about something stupid. And it drove her absolutely nuts. _Smug little bastard._

“Don’t push your luck,” Carmen threatened with a glare, before she begrudgingly cut his binds off the tree.

Zevran grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading so far.
> 
> Sorry for the delay, I've been replaying Mass Effect the past two weeks to get myself ready for the ME trilogy remaster that might be comin' (fingers crossed) :D  
> And I only just realized how well this fic's title could've worked with a Shiara fic. Oh well  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	20. The Exorcist

“Morrigan, I’ve something for you.”

“Do you now?” The witch looked up from warming her hands near the fire, the growing blaze popping merrily in the rich air of the late evening. 

Carmen revealed a black, leather book from behind and held it out towards her.

Morrigan stared blankly until recognition dawned on her face and she let out a small gasp. “That...is mother’s grimoire!”

Of all the books Carmen managed to snatch, she never thought she would come across something that belonged to _Flemeth._ She had been snooping in the first enchanter’s office before they left the tower because...well, she had always been a snoop. One must wonder how the grimoire happened upon itself in the Circle of Magi of all places though. Stolen by templars, if she had to guess. Or simply a replica. If it was, its girth and the attention to detail put in the intricate designs of the cover must’ve meant it was painstakingly difficult to recreate. When it came to copying books, monks had to re-write out each and every line word for word, meaning that no two books were ever the exact same. But a copy of the _Witch of the Wild’s_ personal grimoire? It must’ve been invaluable. 

“I never expected you to find it or even bother to acquire it, for I had forgotten to make mention of it to you before we entered the tower. You have my thanks!” Morrigan exclaimed. “I will begin studying it immediately. I can only imagine the secrets I may find.” 

Carmen smiled. It was the first time she had seen the mage genuinely excited for something beyond lighting a bandit’s knickers on fire or blowing a darkspawn’s head off with an explosive spell. A welcome change, if any.

“Surely, you must desire something in return.”

“Nah, consider it a gift and nothin' more,” Carmen said with a wave of her hand.

Morrigan looked at her with suspicion, as if she didn't believe those words. 

“Could prove to be fruitful,” Carmen went on, “and who knows, maybe you’ll be able to learn something in there that’ll help us deal with Connor.”

“You believe you will require more than the assistance of the Circle mages?”

She shrugged. “Can’t say for sure yet. We’re dealing with an abomination here. You saw first hand the power of Uldred’s abominations, and we barely got out of that tower alive. Anything could happen.”

Morrigan rubbed the detailed cover of the grimoire with a nod and a smile. “Yes, let us hope the first enchanter’s confidence in his acolytes isn’t unfounded.” 

* * *

By the time they reached Redcliffe, night had settled over the village like a shrouded blanket over a carcass. Something that smelled of smoke reached her nose and Carmen has to squint to make out the village. Even with her heightened sense of sight, she could only discern distant lanterns and torches from where they were standing. However, the closer they came to the gates of Redcliffe, the better she could make out the light sources. When it became clear that they weren't lanterns or torches at all, Carmen's blood ran cold. Roaring fires were engulfing several houses, cabins, and wagons. Only when they had rushed closer did they see the gruesome battle in progress.

Carmen sucked in a breath sharply. “No…”

The dead walked once more. Hundreds of ghouls from an unending wave of onslaught had hit the village, massacring everything in their path. Squinting, she caught wind of a crowd of those wretched things banging against the large doors of the Chantry, which had been roughly barricaded. But the chance of it holding up for long was slim. Eventually, the ghouls would breach the building and devour all that remained inside. Their hunger knew no bounds, as they clambered over one another in an unruly fashion, drawn towards a single source of enrapturement like flies to a lantern. Even from here, the sight made her recoil.

“We need to help them!” yelled Alistair.

She shook her head fervently. “There are too many!”

“That didn’t stop us the last time!” 

“We didn’t know the source of the attacks last time,” Carmen countered. “No, if we are to end this now with as few casualties, we must strike at the source. We must reach _Connor._ ” 

Her companions looked to one another, quickly nodding their heads in agreement. Without further delay, they raced past the horde of ghouls and to the secret entrance that led to Redcliffe castle. Leliana arrowed down any stray ghouls that had caught wind of their beeline towards the windmill, preventing any stragglers to follow them back into the castle. 

Once they arrived in the great hall, the room had appeared in a more chaotic mess than it was the last time. Tables had been flipped over, chairs with missing legs and cracked seats laid about, blood-stained carpets, and a countless number of ghoul corpses. One of her worst fears that had begun with their departure from Redcliffe all those weeks ago had come to fruition. Both Isolde and Teagan were nowhere to be found, a sign that troubled Carmen greatly. Jowan was dead, his body lying in a small crimson puddle, with marks around his wrists that all but confirmed his futile last resort to blood magic. Even for all his crimes, Wynne kneeled beside him and touched his head, a look of pity on her face. Finally, at the corner of Carmen's peripheral, she spotted Sten…

She rushed to the unmoving qunari and checked for his pulse. _Alive._ The rhythmic thumping of his heart was a reassurance and she frantically called Wynne over.

“Can you do anything for him?”

Sten’s torso was littered with slash wounds, and from the angry bruise on the side of his head, chances were that he had a mild concussion, but nothing more. His breathing remained steady. Wynne summoned a surge of emerald-green energy through her fingertips. The healing spell flowed from her to the qunari, melding his wounds before her eyes. Suddenly, Sten awoke in a fit of husky coughs. His eyes grew wide once he realized he was not alone and he heaved himself to sit up.

“Whoa there, big guy, easy!” Carmen tried to calm him. “You okay?”

Sten blinked, still quite dazed, but the awareness of his surroundings returned. “That is unimportant. The demon is still loose and is getting stronger by the minute.”

“Can you stand?”

“I can.”

Anything else Carmen was about to say was interrupted by muffled barking from upstairs. She recognized it all too well and nearly sighed with relief, before overwhelming dread settled in the pit of her stomach. Everyone stilled at the sound as well, their weapons drawn in preparation for the worst. With hasty steps, they ascended to the part of the castle that would eventually lead to Connor’s room. There, she came upon the source of the sounds.

Blue was barking aggressively against a closed door, with Teagan leaning against a wall beside him with a hand clutched at his right shoulder. Blood trickled from a large wound down arm, and Carmen just knew it was going to leave a nasty scar.

“Blue!” she called.

Upon noticing her, the mabari all but leapt towards her and she knelt to fully embrace her furry companion, relenting against the onslaught of a tongue and copious amounts of saliva against her face. 

“Damn, it’s good to see you too, boy.” Carmen allowed herself to laugh and scratched the mabari behind the ears, before her attention was pulled away to more concerning matters. 

“Teagan, are you alright?” Alistair asked in a panic. “Where is Lady Isolde?”

The bann grunted. “Wardens...I thought you would never return. You’ve been gone for... _so long._ ” There were dark circles under Teagan’s eyes and he looked about ready to collapse. One had to wonder how he slept through all those weeks, if he got any at all. “They’re behind this door. None of us have been able to get it open ever since that dem-..Connor...sealed themselves in.” Teagan sighed, exhausted. “I begged Isolde not to follow, but she wouldn’t listen!”

“We need to get through to Connor before things get worse than they already are.” Carmen tested the locked door with a shove, but to no avail. “Damn thing won't budge.”

Morrigan held a hand over the flat surface of the door, hovering over it for a moment before she frowned. “The demon has placed a barrier of sorts. Given time, I can break it.”

“We won’t have long,” Carmen muttered. “First Enchanter Irving, can you and your mages perform the ritual now? If you can confront the demon in the Fade, you can force it to leave Connor.”

The first enchanter nodded. “We have brought lyrium in preparation, but it will only be sufficient enough to allow one attempt. Who shall we send?”

Carmen shuffled uncomfortably. “I was hoping you would. You’re the first enchanter here, making you the most experienced. And Morrigan’s occupied with breaking the barrier on that door.”

“Me?” He seemed surprised, before nodding with conviction. “Very well. I will face the demon.”

The mages gathered around Irving and began chanting in words she didn’t understand. The first enchanter lay on the ground, closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Now, it was only a matter of waiting, and Carmen hated waiting. For all the things Carmen was known for, it was not for her patience. When faced with a crisis, she had never been one to answer with inaction. The very prospect of being useless to assist grated on her nerves, despite knowing that this was an area out of her element. So alas, she would have to put her trust in the mages for now. 

Minutes passed and not a hint of progress being made. Carmen began to pace, as did Alistair. She was tempted to just kick down the door the old fashioned way, but they both knew that would be futile, what with the magical barrier still up. That knowledge didn’t make her feel any less restless, however. 

Signs of discomfort started to appear on Irving’s face. It was the first time any sort of expression was made after he had projected himself to the Fade. It was equal amounts a good sign and a bad sign. On one hand, it meant he had made contact with...something, at least. Hopefully the demon itself. On the other hand, it meant that all would fall to the first enchanter now. This would be their only chance to defeat the demon with as few bloodshed as possible. Carmen winced at the possibility that things would take a turn for the worse, even if it was something she had prepared for several weeks ago. Honestly, she should’ve expected the demon would retaliate. That Sten and Blue would’ve been enough to hold Connor back was wishful thinking, and Redcliffe had paid dearly for that. 

Carmen mentally kicked herself. _Blast!_

Before she knew it, Irving started writhing in pain. His face contorted into distress and agony, until he cried out as if struck by a blow. Whatever was happening on the other side wasn't looking dandy. There was no doubt about it that the first enchanter was now actively engaging with the demon. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and his breathing started to quicken to the point of panting, like he was gasping for air. 

Suddenly, as if his soul was forcibly thrown out of the Fade, Irving woke up with a strangled scream. 

“First enchanter!” cried Wynne.

They held him up, examining his body for any signs of injury. Still recovering from the trip, Irving gasped for air like a man who could breathe for the first time again. Upon everyone’s disturbed looks, he shook his head sadly. Carmen’s shoulders seemed to tense at the motion, and she hoped she didn’t have to hear the words they all feared, despite knowing what they were going to be anyway.

“I tried, Warden...I tried.”

Carmen scowled. “You didn’t try _hard_ enough!” Her shout made the first enchanter flinch, and he raised his hands in surrender, growing frightened at her rising temper.

“The demon has become too powerful,” Irving tried to explain. “It struck me down in the Fade, leaving me powerless to do anything but return to my body in the waking world. I’m afraid its hold over Connor is absolute. There is only one thing we can do now."

“No, you lie.” Carmen pointed her spear against the first enchanter in an act of frustration. “I did not save your hides and haul you all the way from Kinloch Hold to Redcliffe, just for you to tell me that you cannot free the boy, you _worthless peon!”_

Irving could offer nothing more. “I am sorry,” he said lamely.

Carmen fumed. 

“Warden,” Morrigan beckoned. “The barrier is destroyed.”

Faint sounds of sobbing came from the other side, that of which belonged to a woman's. They opened the door to reveal the arlessa on the far end of the room and on her knees in front of Connor, pleading before him. But his mother's words seemed to have no effect and only landed upon deaf ears. Nothing she said could reach the boy that was once Connor. If not even a mother's words could sway her child, what hope did they have?

“Kill the child and the demon will die with it,” Sten spoke from behind.

“ _What?_ ” Alistair shook his head wildly. “No, no, no, not going to happen. This is Arl Eamon’s son!” he hissed. “There has to be another way.”

Morrigan waved him away dismissively without a second glance. “We have attempted the ritual and the Circle mage has failed spectacularly. The blood mage is dead and we are out of lyrium. There is only one thing left that we _can_ do.”

“Connor is just a boy,” Leliana protested. 

“What part of ‘Connor is possessed’ do you not understand, fool?”

“And that means we should kill him? It’s not his fault! How is a child his age supposed to know the dangers of demons?”

Morrigan gave her an annoyed look, her patience wearing thin. “Then perhaps it should’ve been the _arlessa’s_ responsibility to ensure this never happened. _Some mother_ she is.” Leliana tried to say more, but the witch cut her off. “As we ponder over the fate of Connor ‘til our hairs turn grey and we sprout beards, might I remind you that the village is being massacred by the ghouls as we speak? We are wasting precious time.”

“And here I thought you never cared for those villagers,” Leliana bit back. “You were certainly willing to leave them to their fate all those weeks ago!”

With a weary sigh, Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose. She knew some wouldn’t agree to this. Even she didn’t want to do this. But the demon had done too much damage. If the arlessa didn’t hire a blood mage to tutor Connor and had given him the proper education, then none of this mess would’ve happened in the first place! Her companions continued to argue and her headache only served to worsen by the minute. Her breath trembled as she breathed out. She couldn’t believe what she was about to say, but it was time.

With a heavy heart, Carmen resigned herself to what would happen. “Morrigan's right.” That caused everyone to stop bickering momentarily. “I should’ve known it would come to this. But I have to do what must be done.” When Carmen looked up to her companions again, her eyes hardened into steel and when she spoke, it sounded just as tired as she looked. “This ends now.”

“No! You can’t do this!” Alistair stared in appallment at his fellow Warden’s decision.

She leveled her gaze intently. “I can, and I will.”

“You’re making a _mistake,_ ” he spat.

“I am _correcting_ a mistake!” Carmen shot back hotly, unable to contain her frustration any longer. “You think this isn’t hard for me too? I care not if you don’t have the stones to do what is necessary. But do not get in my way.”

Alistair’s eyes flashed angrily at the Warden, practically emanating harsh disapproval, but he did not dignify a retort. After a moment of an intense staredown, he huffed and whirled out of the room with a curse. 

She felt a hand on her arm, and turned to see Leliana give her a disbelieving look. 

“Carmen, please, don’t do this,” she pleaded. “This isn’t right. It just...isn’t _right._ ”

The Warden closed her eyes and breathed out a quiet sigh. “I know.”

“Then _why_ are you doing this? How can you kill a mother’s child?” Leliana was livid at this point, as she tried so desperately to change the elf’s mind. 

Carmen applauded the woman’s attempt, even if it did nothing. “Connor’s fate was sealed the moment he made a deal with that demon. Look we tried, but this isn’t one of your fairytales, Leliana! This will only end one way, and you _know_ it.” Rushing to the Circle for the mages’ help was a desperate act that ended in failure. Carmen had not expected her or Alistair to understand this decision, but she hoped they didn’t have to come to blows, even if she was willing to go that far. The lives of Redcliffe counted on them. “Step. Aside.” Her voice was disturbingly monotonous and flat, downright apathetic even. 

Leliana retreated as if she had been struck, her eyes shining with unshed tears. The bard knew this was not an argument she could win, and her look of betrayal filled Carmen with regret. The Warden’s grip on her spear was tight until her knuckles were white, and she stalked towards Connor without a glance back, daring anyone to stop her. She grit her teeth. 

Finally noticing her, Connor smiled with anticipation. “ **I knew you would return.** ” His voice chilled her to the bones. No longer was there any trace of the voice of a prepubescent boy. So long had they allowed the demon to fester within his body, that it was hard to even tell if there were any discernible remnants of his humanity. His eyes were bloodshot and his arms frailer than the last time she had seen him. 

“Connor, stop…” Isolde mustered weakly. “Please, stop.”

“ **Silence, woman!** ” The demon effortlessly flung her towards a wall with a flick of his wrist. “ **You’ll never win! He’s** **_mine!_** _”_ it snarled.

In an instant, the demon transformed. Gone was the small frame of a child, of brunette hair or round, little ears. Gone was the doe-eyed look of something that was once innocent by nature. Carmen witnessed the brutal transformation from a boy to a demonic monster with fangs, claws, horns, and purple-scaled skin. It was hideous. 

Carmen’s eyes darkened. “Die in the void, demon!”

 _Desire_ chuckled maniacally. “ **Just where do you think I came from?** ”

The entire building seemed to shake, as the demon howled. It was a cursed sound, grating on the ears ‘til she had to hold the side of her head to stop from falling over. Candles flickered violently and Carmen prepared herself for the worst. Sten and Morrigan stood beside her, their weapons drawn. They would not hold back now.

Carmen lunged, with her shield held forward and her weapon arm pulled back to allow for a stronger thrust with her spear. But the demon was nimble, and easily pirouetted out of her reach, leaving her a nasty wound from a pull of its claws against her collarbone. She hissed in pain and her blood sang with the sudden fear of death. The growing heat from behind signaled the conjuration of a fire spell that was about to fry her. It whistled past her as Carmen dived and rolled out of harm’s way, and on her way down against the hard blood-stained floor, she caught wind of Morrigan sending a fireball of her own towards the demon. 

The impact was a loud crack of an explosion that left Carmen stumbling on the ground, too dazed to do anything other than muster a weak attempt to rise and thrust at her foe. Her attacks only met empty air, of course, for the demon had already abandoned its sights on her and moved on to her two companions. By the time she was back on her two feet, Desire was engaged with Sten in close-quarters. The qunari pulled back with a heave and swung his zweihander. The demon managed to duck out of the way just in time, the blade only able to graze it by a hair, but the maneuver left it unbalanced. 

At last, an opening! Carmen sprung up from her coiled position, thrusting her spear out. The sound of metal penetrating flesh filled her ears, and she could hardly believe her eyes. Her polearm was now entrenched firmly within its chest. The demon shrieked in pain and as she forcibly pulled the spear out, she kicked it hard enough that it was knocked onto its knees.

“Morrigan! Now!” 

The witch summoned a small storm within the room, before she used her staff to concentrate it into a single beam, blasting a large bolt of electricity towards the demon that sent it flailing in anguish. Dark vapours emanated from the demon while its form dissipated back into a normal boy’s. Sten regarded the motionless boy sternly and readied his greatsword for the killing blow. 

But out of nowhere, the arlessa jumped in front of him, cradling her son protectively. 

“Stop! Stop, don’t hurt him!”

She was a dwarf compared to the towering man. The very act of defying him was futile, because they all knew he could simply cut down the woman without breaking a sweat. Carmen shook her head pitifully and raised a single hand to prevent Sten from engaging Isolde. They did not need Arl Eamon to recover, just to find out that not only was his son dead, but that his wife was also killed by a qunari. 

Isolde helplessly backed away from them with Connor still in her arms. “Please, have mercy! He’s just a boy...it-it’s not his fault!”

The arlessa continued to rant, and Carmen recognized them to be the frantic ravings of a desperate mother. “There has to be another option. The Circle mages must know some sort of...spell. Or we could t-take him to the grand cathedral of Denerim to exorcise him...or...or…”

Carmen looked at her sadly and suppressed a sigh. “Do not make this harder than it already is.”

“ _No!_ You cannot kill him! Please, don’t hurt my baby! _I’m begging you!!”_ she cried, her voice cracking. Isolde’s breathing was panicked and her face tear-streaked. She was hyperventilating. “You…” she said, making another hopeless attempt, “you’re a woman. What if this was your son? Tell me you wouldn’t move mountains to save him!”

Carmen was taken aback by the words, as if she had been slapped. What was once the face of a Warden bent on finishing the job was gradually replaced with a regretful and forlorn expression. She paused for a moment to take in the image of the scene before her, and became acutely aware of what she looked like. Not only what she looked like, but what she was about to do. A threatening-looking elf clad in armour, holding a spear pointed at a mother’s child. The sight would’ve brought shame to her family. Carmen nearly barked out in bitter laughter. _Maker, what the fuck have I become?_

She was horrified and sick to her stomach. Her stoic expression she tried so hard to maintain nearly cracked. There came a moment when everything just clicked for her. Where Carmen realized she had become the one thing she feared and hated the most. How many times had this sort of scenario played out? Just how many families had been left in ruin because of something _exactly_ like this? A ready killer with a weapon drawn, standing in front of a terrified parent huddled over their child. 

_‘Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare touch her!’_

Carmen grimaced at the memory. 

Grind away a lioness’ claws and break down her teeth all you like, deprive her of any means to fight back. It mattered not. The lioness would still put herself between the assailant and her cub, because that was what instinct demanded. But she knew this wouldn't end like those adventurous plays. There were no such thing as happy endings, not in this world, where demons and naive boys existed. She knew that better than anyone. Carmen had always been the one looking up, helpless to fight back. Now it was her turn to watch someone else feel helpless, because of _her_. She wanted to puke. 

When Carmen finally spoke, her face was stained with tears. “Sten...” she choked, swallowing as her voice wavered. “...Restrain the arlessa.”

She had closed her eyes at this point. Carmen heard the heavy footsteps of the qunari pass by her, the broken screams of Isolde as he forcibly dragged her away from Connor, the uncomfortable shuffling of feet from Morrigan. The rest of the companions were waiting on the other side of the room, and Carmen was glad that it would just be the two of them that would see this. She opened her eyes, and with a shaky breath, pulled out a dagger. 

Much like what Isolde had done, Carmen cradled him. Because no one should die with their back against the cold, hard floor. Especially not him. Connor’s eyelids cracked open to reveal a pair of hazel eyes. But she knew the demon would not be kept at bay for long and that those irises would turn amber again very soon. 

“Will it hurt?”

She could’ve sobbed right then in there, but she would not lie to him. She would not disrespect the boy’s intelligence in his final moments. So Carmen would give him the truth, for he deserved that much.

“Yes, child,” she said softly. 

He let out a shaky breath and gripped the arm that was cradling him, even as the blade plunged into his heart.

The last thing Connor said was, "I’m sorry," before he went limp in her arms.

When a woman's husband died, we called her a widow. When a man's wife died, we called him a widower. When a child's parents died, we called them an orphan. But when someone's child died, we didn’t dare try to come up with a name for something so horrible.

Only when the deed was done did Sten gently let Isolde go.

She had wailed. _It is a heartbreaking sound, Shianni. The wailing of a mother. And I pray that you never have to hear it._

The day was won. No songs were sung.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really like to know just how long we were occupied in the Circle Tower in-game. Because even if it wasn't in disarray, there was no chance that leaving Connor alone for even a few days was going to turn out well without some form of consequence. Yet in the game, we are led to believe that the demon just sits on its ass like a well-behaved boy while we bring reinforcements? I don't buy it. There shouldn't have been a free get-out-of-jail card for that quest, imo.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	21. What Makes a Warden Grey

The funeral pyres had been short. 

The dead were carefully placed into their own little boats, set ablaze by fiery arrows out into the lake. Once Connor and the demon had perished, the ghouls had collectively dropped dead, with no master to control them any longer nor provide the magic needed to keep them thralled. Maker be praised, the doors of the Chantry in the village had held up long enough for those within to survive. Bar the several hundred scratches, dents, and divots upon the wood from the horde’s weapons, of course. But many were not so lucky to have made it into the building in time, and the village grounds were stained red with blood. Perhaps too befitting of its name. 

As the fires engulfed the bodies on the boats, lighting up like lantern lily pods spread out across the lake, all that was left were their bones that would soon sink like stones. 

With Arl Eamon still comatose from his illness, their only hope of curing him was the Urn of Sacred Ashes. A relic thought to be nothing but a legend, a myth. The witch had certainly not been shy to point out the insanity of chasing after shadows, but no one seemed to have any better ideas. Leliana doubted anyone would suggest consorting with a demon for advice ever again. They needed the arl alive, so here they were, half-way across Ferelden on the road to the country’s capital. Denerim. The last known location of the only man who knew more about the ashes than anyone else. Brother Genitivi.

The trip had been relatively silent for the most part. The sour memory of Redcliffe’s recent events had made sure of that. Leliana shot nervous glances between the two Wardens every now and again, waiting for the inevitable confrontation that would take the tension to a breaking point. She had tried to talk to Alistair, but his responses had been clipped and he always ended up waving her off. The hostility exuded by him towards Carmen could be felt by everyone. The girl had already been chastised by Wynne, but that didn’t seem to change her cold, emotionless demeanour. 

The long-awaited confrontation would soon blossom into a reality, now that they had decided to camp for the night. 

Once the tents had been set up, and the weak flame of the bonfire began to slowly build, Alistair approached Carmen with a scowl. “Can we talk?”

Leliana winced. In her experience, anytime someone started with a ‘ _can we talk?_ ’, it usually ended very poorly. But Carmen nodded curtly and let him guide her away from the middle of the camp to converse. 

“So,” Alistair began casually, horribly glib. “How’s your wrist? You should probably look into that. Could get an infection.”

“Look, you mind if we don’t do this?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“This cat and mouse bullshit,” Carmen said bluntly. “You want to talk about what happened at Redcliffe, so just get to the point, yeah? I’d really like to skip the whole beatin’ around the topiary thing, if that’s okay with you.”

“What? Oh no, I was genuinely concerned! That wound looks incredibly painful,” he quipped. Carmen rolled her eyes in response, and Alistair curled his lips as he continued. “Tell me, were you perhaps short of a marble, or was all that just a job to you? Do you even care, or are you just that callous?”

“Don’t be silly. I do what needs to be done. The rest is irrelevant.”

"Is that what you told yourself when you put that knife into Connor?"

“Alistair,” Leliana warned, giving him a cautious look.

He ignored her, sending a glare to Carmen. “You killed an innocent, little boy. You killed the arl’s _son._ How can you just walk away from that as if nothing happened?”

“Shall I weep then? Pound my fist and curse at the silent gods? What exactly would that solve, hm?” Carmen shook her head ruefully. “Do not mistake my silence for apathy.” Leliana noted the faint growl that accompanied those words, the first signs of frustration that escaped the Warden.

Alistair’s eyes hardened. “You had a choice. No amount of excuses is going to justify what you did. How can you even consider yourself a Grey Warden after this? I don't know what Duncan saw in you, he would've never condoned this.”

Whatever response Alistair expected to get out of her, it was not a smile. “Actually, he was the one who preached about sacrifice and the greater good the most. For all your admiration for the dead man, it’s a shame you never learned that lesson.” The barb was meant to hurt, and it served its purpose well, as Alistair’s eyes widened before narrowing. 

“You don’t get to lecture me about being a Grey Warden!”

Carmen let out a humourless laugh. When she returned her gaze at Alistair again, he visibly bristled and took a step back at her look of absolute fury. But when she spoke, her voice was terrifyingly calm. “It must be so _easy_ , innit? To be a coward, so frightened of responsibility, you run from it any chance you get.” She stalked towards him until they were inches apart. “Refuse to take charge and have someone else make all the hard decisions, then proceed to bitch and moan when things don’t turn out like you wanted 'em to, right? Now that’s a bloody knee-slapper. Must be real nice and comfortable all the way up on that high horse of yours.” 

Alistair spluttered indignantly, face flushed. “I-”

She cut him off. “Alistair, _grow up_. You’re the one who has the _luxury_ to throw a fit over this. So don’t pretend like you have a damn clue about what being a Warden means. Neither of us are shining examples of the order, _my prince._ ” 

At this point, everyone had all ended up eavesdropping on them, doing none too well at hiding that fact. Morrigan watched the argument unfold from where she was standing with her eyes wide, while their most recent member, Zevran, sported a look of interest. Sten was as passive as ever. While Wynne shook her head with concern. The Wardens didn’t seem to care about the attention however, too engrossed in their argument that they were. The knot in Leliana’s stomach only continued to grow as the two went on, brewing the tension to a degree that made her want to hide once one of them exploded on the other. 

Alistair looked about ready to slap her, veins already visible on his head as he became more infuriated by the minute. “I owed the arl _more_ than this.”

“Is that what this is really about? Remorse, fueled by some sense of obligation to a surrogate father who didn’t even treat you like a son?”

“It’s not like that, it’s…” He huffed. “You didn’t know him! How do you think Eamon will feel once he finds out you killed Connor?”

Carmen dismissed his protests. “And how do you think Connor would feel had he survived? The boy would be subject to the trauma of demonic possession and the guilt for all the people he inadvertently killed, sent to a Circle where he would live out the rest of his days being told what a sin his existence is. That’s assuming he isn’t made Tranquil upon arrival. That what you wanted for him?”

“And you thought it was better to just end his life?!” Alistair shot back angrily.

“Doesn’t matter what I thought.” Carmen began to pace. “We sought the help of the mages like you suggested, and that plan went south. We ended up losing more than it was worth. We were out of options!”

Carmen’s voice had raised exponentially by now. She was furious and all those weeks of exhaustion and anxiety had brought her to a breaking point. “And I know you wish you could’ve done more. I know you have regrets, and believe me, I wish I could take that away for you. I _wish_ I was the Warden you thought I was,” she said with a low snarl, harshly pressing a finger against her chest. “But I’m tired of pretending to be something I’m not.” Her voice cracked, as it began to tire not just from the physical strain. But she willed herself to continue her rant anyway.

“So yes, I killed Connor,” she spat bitterly. “I killed him because there was nothing else I could have done. I killed him because…” Carmen huffed exasperatedly, scraping a hand through her hair. “Because _no mother should have to kill her own child!”_ she snapped, screaming those last words as if they were a curse. 

And there it was. Unhinged rage, masking deep-seated despair. All the pent up frustration, feelings of betrayal, strife, and injustice that had built up for weeks, let out like an unstoppable tidal wave, with Alistair unfortunate enough to be the one to tip her over the edge. It was an answer he sought, but not the one he wanted to hear. 

The two Wardens glared at one another without a word. The silence that followed after so much shouting was hair-raising, like standing where lightning had just struck. In fact, the silence was so much louder in volume, and the only thing that filled it was the crackling of the bonfire, its flames dancing fervently.

In truth, Leliana knew it was not Carmen’s fault. She had condemned the elf during the heat of the moment as well. But looking back, it was a situation where no one could win. Alistair knew this too, but he was so swallowed in his grief, that to admit that would be to admit they failed. A grief spawned from the tragedy that was Ostagar. Carmen, being the other sole survivor of the Battle of Ostagar, was a constant reminder to Alistair of all the people he had lost. But this awareness only manifested consciously for him in the form of a thinly veiled resentment, which was amplified by Carmen’s recent actions. No matter what, Alistair would always see her as Connor’s killer. To him, Connor didn’t just die. He was murdered. 

But by the end of the night, Leliana realized that neither of them could swallow their own pride to admit that they both had a sad case of survivor’s guilt. It was just easier to lash out. 

“What about Isolde then?” Alistair’s voice was quiet, but the boiling anger was still there. “Did you give _her_ a choice?” He really should’ve just dropped it, but against Leliana’s silent pleas for him to stop, he kept pushing. Alistair leaned in, breaking the Warden’s resolve with words that’d hit harder than any physical blow. “No mother should have to watch her child die.” 

Carmen’s look of hurt and regret at his words was gradually replaced with a glower, the tension that was released from her last outburst all but returned in a single instant. Like fresh magma over igneous, fizzing over the rock as a new layer of loathing was formed. Her fists shook. 

Leliana decided to step in, effectively stopping any further jibes, lest their already strained relationship be rendered destroyed forever. “Enough, okay?” 

The Warden didn’t seem to register her words, her eyes still shooting daggers at the man in front of her. Carmen’s expression had morphed into a full-blown _glare._ A glare so full of hatred and murder, it rivalled even Morrigan’s. The increasing bitterness in her face only served to make things worse. If Leliana wasn’t standing between them, she was sure the elf was going to lunge at him.

“I said enough,” Leliana repeated, firmer this time. “This isn’t helping anyone. Just stop.”

Carmen’s eyes finally reached the bard’s, all haunted and broken, until she looked away ashamed. Then with a sigh, she began to take her leave.

Alistair, dumbstruck but indignant, called out to her. “H-hey, where are you going?!”

“Away.”

Panic swirled through Leliana's mind at the words and she wasn’t the only one. Wynne, who had been silent throughout the whole scene, spoke up for the first time. “Warden, please. You must not forsake your du-”

“For _a walk,_ ” Carmen clarified with annoyance. “Or is that not allowed either? I _could_ end up killing some kid on the way.” Her voice dripped with venomous sarcasm, before she turned on her heels and strode off without waiting for a reply.

 _Carmen, no._

The rest of the companions were left to stand awkwardly, while Alistair stomped back to the bonfire, looking none too pleased. The confrontation had begun with a tense strum of emotions, fueled onwards with words said that could never be taken back. The strain had then been pulled so tight, each wave of insults all but rising in a roaring crescendo, until a chord had been cut short. There was no release, not really, and Leliana wondered if the two Wardens could ever reconcile after tonight. They needed to.

“Marvelous, Alistair. You really outdid yourself this time,” Morrigan said dryly with a deadpan expression, fiddling with the ends of her staff.

“Not one word, witch,” he growled.

“Ooooo, touchy are we?” she gleefully mocked. “Was that a threat, I heard? How I quiver in _fear_.” 

His face turned red. "You-!" He was about to throw a retort, but bit back the words he was about to say, resigning himself to a pout and doing his best to ignore Morrigan’s taunts.

“Try not to think too hard. You might pop a blood vessel.”

Alistair only continued to seethe, crossing his arms. "This discussion is far from over.”

Blue whimpered, his ears shrinking back, as he went after his mistress with a worried bark. 

“So…” Zevran started awkwardly, chancing an attempt at levity. “I suppose we won’t be having Fereldan stew tonight?” 

Leliana sighed tiredly. “I’ll go to her.”

* * *

Pain. White, hot, pain shot through within her hands as if her blood was on fire. It had been a growing trend these past few weeks. The more agitated she became, the more painful it was, and tonight did not serve to be any good for her mental health. Carmen wasn’t sure if she was seeing things again, because the veins in her palm flared, glowing through the skin like raw lyrium. She nearly yelped at the sight, and at this point, she was ready to admit that she had completely lost her mind. Only after a few steady breaths, did the light recede and her hands went back to normal.

_What’s happening to me?_

Though Connor’s demon had given her a deep cut on the wrist, she doubted that was the cause of these strange lights, for they had started to appear long before their battle at Redcliffe castle. The only thing that kept her calm at the moment was her ever-faithful mabari, rubbing his head against her waist in a soothing motion. Carmen rubbed his head with the back of her hand. 

She looked into his beady eyes. “Did I mess up?”

Blue whined and continued to head-butt her leg in response.

“Oh, what could you know about being a Warden, silly? You’re but a mabari.”

He barked insistently. 

Carmen scoffed. “Fair enough.”

They were at the edge of a small clearing, overlooking the plains that led to the once lively village of Lothering. Even from here, she could see the skeletal remains of the windmill, its wooden bones a foreshadow of what could eventually become of Ferelden in its entirety. Leliana had refused to return, even though Carmen had offered. She couldn’t blame her. The humble village had been a refuge for the former Lay Sister. They both knew what they would find there now that the darkspawn had pillaged and poisoned those lands. There was no reason to return. It was better to remember Lothering as it once was; full of life and character. Not a wasteland that would take decades for its grounds to heal and life to grow there again, if it would ever. 

Alistair’s words rang loudly in her head. It was inconceivable that Carmen would ever find herself grieving for the death of a human in any circumstance. She angrily punched the nearest tree trunk. Oh, what did it matter that Connor was human? He was a child, and a demon damned him before he even had the chance to experience the rest of life. Probably for the better, knowing what would’ve happened to him once his mage origins became public knowledge.

_Really? You’re pathetic._

She knew such excuses were hollow in the face of what was already done, useless attempts to assuage her own failure. Carmen had cursed Duncan a hundred times for what he did, but after the past few weeks, after tonight, how could she have the right? She was no better than him. Truly, the perfect Grey Warden. Even now, the deceased Warden-Commander remained a constant taunting figure in her mind. 

_I fucked up, I know, but Maker...can't a girl just catch a break?_

Carmen heard her before she saw her. Her ears twitched to the sound of a faint rustle of leaves, the heavier step after avoiding a twig, the light brush of a small branch. For a bard, she wasn’t very good at being quiet. Maybe she wanted to be heard. 

“Turn back,” Carmen said without looking behind.

The nearing steps hesitated, but continued until Leliana was standing next to her. Carmen flashed her an annoyed look.

Leliana ignored it, and instead raised something she held in her hand. “I brought you bandages,” she said gently, pointing to the still untreated gash on Carmen’s wrist. “For the wound.”

The Warden clenched her teeth. “Leliana, I'm fine. Return to camp,” she said, not bothering to hide her impatience.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re _incessant_ , aren’t you?” Carmen spun ‘til she was now glowering at her with balled fists, causing the woman to flinch. A small part of her relished in the way Leliana instinctively recoiled away from her in fear. A bigger part of her gaped open like a wound.

But despite that, the bard did not run, trying her best to remain calm and stand her ground. Carmen crossed her arms, perplexed. "What do you want? Come to gawk at the freak?" she challenged bitterly. It was entirely the wrong thing to say, and she knew it. Carmen regretted it the moment those words left her copper-tinged mouth, and it scared her, because regret brought with it several implications she didn’t want to entertain. 

Leliana almost looked hurt. “Oh, Carmen...”

Frustrated, the Warden forcibly hardened her expression. “Listen, I don't care to hear any lecture you've conjured up, if that’s why you’re really here.”

“I know,” she said.

"I'm not going to talk about my _feelings_ either, so don't even bother."

“I know.”

“And I swear, if you bring up the Maker of all things, I’m going to _lose it._ ”

“I won’t.”

Carmen stared dumbfoundedly at the woman in front of her, confused by her intentions while the rising anger within her dissipated, surprising even herself. She turned to Blue, signalling for him to do a quick perimeter walk around the area. Blue gave one last worried glance before obeying and disappearing past the trees and bushes.

Her tense shoulders drooped as she sighed, looking away. “Why are you here, Leliana?” she asked, hating how accusatory and ungrateful she sounded. 

Leliana understood the double entendre, but answered it literally, and honestly. “I want to patch up your wound.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, allowing herself a moment to shut her eyes. _Of course,_ that was why Leliana was here. Why she had come to the elf in a fruitless attempt to simply comfort. It was in her nature to, just like it was in _Carmen’s_ nature to break and destroy. Seeing Leliana now made her want to shrink into herself. She knew how ugly her fork-tongued spite could be. But for whatever reason, Leliana refused to judge her, or at the very least, refused to voice it. Somehow, that was much worse. Carmen waited for the hostile words, the cold remarks, and cruel insults. She wanted the woman to scold her, reprimand her for all the things she had done. It was nothing less than what she deserved, and it was something she could understand, something she came to expect. Something she was tempted to beg her for. But none of that came, and the uncertainty of it all left her displaced. Like being caught red-handed only for the punishment to be a forgiving caress to the cheek. How was one supposed to answer to that?

Carmen swallowed the lump in her throat, breathing in deeply.

“Please, just leave me alone,” she managed weakly.

Leliana looked at her with sad eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

Carmen frowned, turning away and rubbing her arms absentmindedly. 

After what felt like an eternity, her resolve finally broke and she spoke, her words barely a whisper and the only evidence that she had uttered anything at all being the icy breath that came with them. “No,” she mumbled.

She sat down, leaning her back against a tree. Leliana followed suit and took a seat beside her. She didn’t say anything, merely waited patiently for the Warden while she collected herself. Gods, it was supposed to be simple. Go to Redcliffe, gain the support of Arl Eamon, and get an edge over Loghain. Sure, they had the mages as allies now, but they held no political power. Because they sure as right needed a small win after the absolute disaster that was Ostagar, and that was putting it politely. Just _one_ damn win. Something that would set them a step closer towards their goal that made trekking through the ass-end of Ferelden a little less demoralizing, but.

But.

Things were never simple, because where was the fun in that, right? Of all the days, Redcliffe had to suffer an internal crisis with a demon during the middle of a Blight. Of all the days, the Circle had to have an abomination problem on their hands _during the middle of a Blight_. ‘Bad timing’ would be the understatement of the age. She was beginning to think she should start carrying a Rabbit’s Foot, just for good measure. But she knew better. 

After a while, Carmen nodded at the bard, and reluctantly held out her hand. 

Realizing the silent invitation, Leliana took it and began to bandage her wound, as promised. It stung. Because Carmen had barely cleaned it, letting the remaining blood dry until it crusted over the skin. She had scrubbed until her hands were red and cracked raw, but no amount of scrubbing in the pond was going to wash off the blood on her hands. When the first of the bandages covered the soon-to-be scar that would be another addition to the dozens that littered her body already, she fought the urge to pull away again at the gentle touches, worried that her veins would start lighting up again, for different reasons entirely. So Carmen watched. She let the efficient hands of a bard bind her wound, like they had done so for the first time all those weeks ago. 

Carmen ducked her head, feeling her throat tighten, awash with a distinct sort of ache that nestled deep between her ribs like mould.

“It hurts.” She wasn’t talking about the wound.

“It will heal.” Leliana wasn’t either.

Carmen wanted to ask her how she knew, but she was almost afraid to. The feeling of Leliana’s hand on the bandaged wrist ended with a lingering touch, her breath hitching at the loss of contact, and just like that, the moment was over. The sight of her own calloused knuckles, dry from the weather and bruised from previous fights, left her embarrassed. _Please, don’t hold my hands accountable. They’re young and they’re dumb._

They sat there in peaceful silence. She caught Leliana staring towards the distant silhouette of Lothering, her eyes glassy. Carmen should’ve been the one to ask this, but once again, Leliana surprised her by beating her to it.

“Are you okay?”

The sentiment behind the words touched her, more than it should have.

“I…don’t know,” Carmen said, and it was honest. Because you could be nothing but honest with Leliana. She told lies for a living, so she could weed out lies just as easily. “I keep thinking about what this really means.” Carmen traced a finger over the griffon engraving on her armour. “I thought I knew, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

“It can mean anything you want.”

She scoffed. “Is it ever that simple? At least King Cailan died still believing the Wardens were honourable men and women. Few have the pleasure to die blissfully ignorant,” she remarked. “Thieves, bandits, templar rejects, murderers...is that what a Warden is?” Carmen let out a harsh, broken chuckle. “Is that what I am?”

“You're more than that to me. You're...” Leliana trailed off. She wrapped her arms over herself, and not because of the cold. Something flashed in the bard’s eyes, something that made her uncertain. Hesitant. “There's something you need to know,” she finally said.

Never had she seen Leliana appear so anxious. Always, she was the one with the well-plastered smile that looked despair in the eyes with a giggle and a brush on the shoulder. Now, Carmen saw her in an entirely new light, one that made her seem so vulnerable.

There was a low sigh, and then... “I lied to you,” came the words, gone with the wind.

Carmen paused. Silent, like the Maker when His faithful confessed. As if she hadn’t heard her at all. She eventually looked over and found Leliana unable to meet her eyes. Then she returned her gaze to the stars, willing herself to focus on anything but her surroundings, to succumb to the beauty of something so far removed from these cursed lands and its damned people. Carmen began to pull at the grass blades carelessly, tuning out the world around her. Four words were all it took to leave her numb to the core. Four words that she had expected, but hurt nonetheless.

“Oh.”

She couldn't even bring herself to be angry anymore, too emotionally drained and spent for the night to muster anything but detached acceptance. 

Leliana nervously wrung her hands together, risking a nervous glance at the Warden before looking away again. “About why I left Orlais,” she clarified. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth of why I left. I wasn’t ready to talk about what happened to me.”

“Why the change of heart now?”

“I don’t want to lie to you anymore,” Leliana said. “Maybe this will affect us, maybe it won’t. But you deserve the truth.”

Carmen held her gaze seriously. “Tell me then. You can tell me anything.”

It was enough to urge Leliana on and bolster her confidence to share. She took a deep breath, trying to find her words. “I found myself in the Chantry because I was being hunted.” If she didn’t have Carmen’s undivided attention, she certainly did now. “I was framed. Betrayed by someone I thought I knew and could trust. Marjolaine,” she said, with the faintest trace of sadness and anger. 

“She was my mentor. The bardic arts, how to enchant with words and song, to carry myself like a highborn lady or blend in as a servant; she taught it all. The skills I learned, I used to serve my bardmaster.” Her tone shifted. “She was a remarkable woman. I don’t think I could fully express the admiration I had for her, or the depth of my affection.”

Carmen’s eyes widened, and she forced a neutral expression to return. In the way Leliana spoke of this Marjolaine, the way her brows furrowed and the corners of her mouth dipped — it was clear it was much more than just a master-apprentice relationship. Carmen would have to be blind as a bat not to see it. A repulsive knot settled into her stomach. Something that was dangerously irrational and reeked of envy, and she immediately felt dirty. Carmen knew the answer already, but asked anyway. 

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

“I...yes. I suppose I did,” Leliana admitted softly, suddenly looking mournful. “I loved her, despite the warning signs.” 

She continued. “But she only loved me when she could use me. My devotion to her blinded me.” Leliana sighed, recalling her past with a distant tone. “There was a man I was sent to kill, not unlike any other job I’ve taken before. She gave me a name and description, and I hunted him down. On his body, I found documents. Sealed documents.”

“And you opened them,” Carmen guessed.

Leliana nodded. “You could say it was my fault. Curiosity killed the cat, so to speak. Marjolaine had been selling information about Orlais to different countries. It was treason. I had to tell her, for my concern was not that she was a traitor, but that her life would be in danger if she was caught. She brushed aside my concerns, of course, promising that she would destroy the documents.” She swallowed, and Carmen was surprised to see anger mar the usually carefree demeanour of the woman. “What a fool I was,” she spat. “I believed her. I _kept_ believing her, up until the moment they showed me the documents, altered by her hand to make me look the traitor.”

“The Orlesian guards...they captured me.” Leliana’s brows furrowed, her voice thick with emotion as she grew ever more distraught. “The things they did to me. They..they...” Her voice cracked, unable to continue.

Carmen fought back the anger that threatened to rise and the hatred she had for people she didn’t even know. Injustice stoked the flames of her wrath until it almost engulfed her being. But this was not what Leliana needed right now. She did not want to scare her, so she shook her head vehemently, banishing the dark thoughts.

Instead, Carmen took her hand, and held it firmly. Not so hard that Leliana couldn’t pull away if she wanted to. But firm, rubbing continuous circles against her knuckles to both comfort and give her strength. Something to ground her and for her to hold onto. She had a feeling that Leliana needed to tell this story more than she needed to hear it, so Carmen didn’t say anything, letting her take her time. _It’s okay. You can do it._ Leliana’s hand squeezed back gratefully. 

“The torture I endured was a traitor’s punishment. And at the end of it, all that awaited me was eternity in an unmarked grave.” She took a shuddering breath. “Eventually, I broke free, saved by a Revered Mother. Dorothea. Eventually, she sent me to Ferelden, where I could remain anonymous. There, I was able to recover and find peace in the Maker.”

“You never sought Marjolaine out?”

“No. What could I do against her? I was weak and lost. So I fled,” Leliana said meekly. “And that is the reason I am here. The _real_ reason. No more lies between us.” 

Carmen felt guilty at those words. There was a lot she had still refused to tell Leliana, and it seemed unfair that she was keeping them from her. _In time,_ she thought. _There will be time for that later._ She was glad that Leliana had not yet pulled away, and she continued to send soothing touches her way.

“Thank you,” Carmen said genuinely. “I know that wasn’t easy for you, but thank you for trusting me.”

Leliana gave her an appreciative look. “You don't know what it means to have you listen to me. I needed this,” she said, before growing thoughtful. ”Sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened had I not opened those documents. If I had just left them well alone as a good bard should. Maybe...”

She let go of her hand, and turned fully, bringing her attention with a steady voice. “Don’t. Would've ended all the same. Might not have been then, but eventually. Did you think you were the first she betrayed?” Carmen asked rhetorically. “Th’s how it usually goes with that kind of life. You know that.”

Leliana hesitated, her eyes far away, then nodded. “I know.”

“Hey.” Carmen gently grabbed her shoulder. “You got out. You _survived._ Not many can say the same.” 

“I did survive,” she said softly, allowing herself to acknowledge that with a small, hopeful smile. 

They leaned into each other, and just for a moment, everything was fine. There was no Blight, no civil war, no darkspawn. Just the two of them, finding solidarity in each other’s pain. It was oddly comforting. Understanding — what a marvellously rare thing that was. The companionship that came with it was unfamiliar grounds, but a promise in itself that reminded them both that they weren't alone. And for tonight, that was enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter was originally supposed to go up way sooner, but University had other plans for me. Hopefully my schedule doesn't get too heavy for the up-coming weeks.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Things got a little heated between the two Wardens. That was a long time coming. We'll have to see how their relationship will go from there.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	22. Willing to Try

Side lunge. Feint. Lower thrust. 

“Widen your stance.”

Sten swung his greatsword, letting it slide against the blade of Carmen’s spear, before jabbing the pommel against her nose that stunned the Warden momentarily. She recovered as quickly as the blow came, dodging another attack with a side-step. Deciding to pace around the qunari, she threw quick, light thrusts at his unguarded sides whenever the opportunity presented itself. He was much larger than she, and his attacks were stronger. She would do well to use her speed and reflexes to her advantage, letting him tire out rather than engage head-on. For all its faults, the Grey Warden stamina was a godsend in many situations. 

Still, any potential openings seemed to come and go too soon. Sten was a soldier of the Beresaad, a warrior trained since he was able to hold a sword, no doubt. His discipline was unmatched, his resolve unbreakable. He had once told them that the Qunari were dangerous precisely because they were thinking men, and not an unthinking force. She had a taste of what remained of that discipline in the Tal-Vashoth, but they lacked a certain sense of control in their movements. They were brutish, relying solely on their strength with no regards to precision. Sten was her first experience with a warrior who possessed both traits, and it was exhilarating. It was at his suggestion that the two Wardens sharpened and honed their skills while out of battle. Neither of them complained, seeing it as a welcome distraction when they were camped up, both too restless that week for their own good. 

He parried her effortlessly. Carmen’s strikes were little more than the harmless jabs of an insect against a stone wall, an immovable object if you would. His barrier of deflections were more stone-like in their resistance than the golem’s desire to chat. Indeed, Shale had been the only good thing to come out of Honnleath and that was certainly saying something. After getting somewhat lost on the path, they had hoped the nearby village would be able to provide them with supplies. Little did they know that it was already overrun with darkspawn. There, in the middle of all that carnage, they found what the dwarves would probably sell their own children for. Despite Alistair’s protests against a golem joining the party, considering their previous master was violently flattened by those stone fists, a companion that couldn’t be tainted was a welcome addition. Careful though. One would never guess that even a heap of rocks brought to life could have an attitude. 

“Focus!” Sten ordered.

Another jab, another block. Carmen spun her polearm, hoping to land a hit on the qunari’s leg. However, using the weight of his blade, he batted it away and immediately lunged. With one swift swipe, the Warden was tripped and landed squarely on her backside, with her vision spinning. She smiled, relishing in the challenge. It took a minute for Carmen to regain her footing, as she wiped her brow with a pant. 

“You are distracted.” Sten re-strapped the greatsword to his back. 

“Would’ve fared better if I had my shield,” she grunted.

Sten shook his head. “You have come to rely on it. Thus the point of these sessions, so that it does not become your crutch.” 

“It’s all I ever knew.” 

“Should you lose your shield, you will know nothing else but your death.”

Carmen didn’t even want to entertain the idea of losing her shield. Her entire fighting technique revolved around her guard. Of counter-attacking an enemy’s blow after an initial block. “And what of mercy?”

“If you are weak-willed, the only thing you’ll learn of mercy is how to beg for it.” There was no arrogance in the words. Nothing but cold, hard truths. Something that was so rare to come by these days. 

Rising with a stretch, Carmen wiped the dirt off her gambeson. The man had always been an enigma to her, but the teachings he offered were invaluable. “I can always rely on you to give truthful advice,” she said glibly. 

“I am Qunari,” Sten stated obviously. “I do not lie to who I follow.”

She nodded appreciatively. “For that, I thank you.” 

He returned the gesture, and the two were content with the easy stroll back to the tents. They stored their weapons away and went for their waterskins. Sten was a man of few words, and you’d be lucky to get anything more than a single sentence. Stubborn as he may be, Carmen was starting to get a feel for when she could take her chances with the questions, and when it was best to leave him alone.

Setting aside the water, she resumed putting on the rest of her armour in preparation for today’s on-going trip. “Pray tell, why did you come to Ferelden in the first place? I doubt it was the weather that drew you in.”

“I was to answer a question.”

“And what is that?”

“The arishok asked, ‘what is the Blight?’ By his curiosity, I am now here.” Sten moved to attach his pauldrons, pulling at the leather binds tightly. 

“I assume you got your answer the moment you stepped foot in the southern regions, yet you ended up in a cage.” Carmen gave a half-chortle. “I take it you got the typical local hospitality.”

He shook his head. “I caged myself,” he corrected. 

She paused in the middle of putting on her greaves. “Why? Don’t you have to report back?”

“Does it matter now? I cannot return to my home.” His response was clipped and terse, almost regretful even. A hint of impatience that signalled the conversation would close very soon. 

Carmen remembered why he was convicted in the first place. Four dead farmers, they had said. Murdered with his bare hands in cold blood, including the children. He could’ve left the farmhold, wiped his hands and hightailed it back to Seheron. That a man would turn himself in for his own crimes was peculiar. Carmen had wondered why he had killed them in the first place, but she knew she was already pushing his limits, and smartly decided to drop the subject. Sten was a man of privacy, and she could respect that, resigning to leave him to his work. 

She had sent Morrigan ahead a few candlelights ago to get a sense of where they were and ensure any nasty surprises wouldn’t greet them later on the road. The witch had served to be a frequent scout for the party all thanks to the shapeshifting magic that lent her easy flight and the ability to cover ground quickly. Morrigan reported that they would be able to reach Denerim in less than a day, provided that they didn’t become distracted with any more darkspawn-riddled villages. The knowledge that they were getting closer to the city made her nerves flare with anxiety. Carmen was going to go _home._ Well, she wouldn’t necessarily be able to stay, what with her duty that would eventually pull her away once again. But a short visit to the alienage to check up on her family was called for. 

“How do you fare, Warden?” Carmen recognized the voice to be Wynne’s. 

The two hadn’t exactly spoken much after the events of the Circle tower. In fact, she wasn’t quite thrilled with the idea of being confronted by her, for she doubted she had enough energy to entertain the woman’s curiosities. One could dare say that Carmen was actively avoiding her, though she would deny such a claim, of course. Maybe it was because she made her nervous. She had the feeling that Wynne picked up on something about her, something that not even she could guess what. Her hands were folded behind her back, and Carmen smelled a lecture coming, even as the mage was waiting for her response. 

“Right as rain,” she managed, “and you?”

“I am doing well, thank you.” Wynne smiled. “Though speaking of rain, these old bones are certainly feeling the weather.” 

Carmen wasn’t surprised. “That’s Ferelden for ya. Was Ostagar your first time in years that you got fresh air?”

“No, I had been to Denerim a few months prior to retrieve a manuscript for the first enchanter. My position as a senior mage granted me more freedom than others, but only on occasion.” Wynne sat on a tree stump, stirring the tea she had poured for herself. “You hailed from Denerim, did you not?”

“Is it the accent?” she guessed. 

“Perhaps,” Wynne replied coyly. “Or the fact that the largest Fereldan alienage is in Denerim. It is not so bad, is it? Being a Grey Warden? You survived, not just your Joining but Ostagar as well. You were chosen. Perhaps you were meant to be more than just a person.”

Carmen groaned exasperatedly. “Oh, don’t start. Every time you’re ‘more than just a person’ to someone, you also become less of a person to them. I’d rather just be Carmen.” She finished putting on her vambraces and gauntlets, as she moved onto strapping her shield to her left arm. “I’m not doing this for Ferelden. I’m doing this for my home. And home is where my family is. The very place I was ripped away from.”

“Regardless of your motivations, you have a duty. You and Alistair are the last of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. Your combined efforts will be needed to end this Blight.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.” Carmen waved her hand, picking up on why Wynne was really talking her about this. “It’s not like I haven’t heard that ad nauseam. But your worry is misplaced. We don’t need to agree with one another to do our jobs.” 

The mage hummed. “I suppose I should trust that. You did not hesitate to do so when confronted with Connor. That was..." Her expression softened. "No one your age should’ve been forced to make that decision.” 

She shrugged, regarding her sternly. “It was either going to be me or someone else.”

“Unfortunate, but true,” Wynne agreed solemnly. “The first time I saw an abomination, my blood turned to ice. It took months before the nightmares stopped. I think it was the knowledge that I could easily become one of them that frightened me the most.” Her voice grew contemplative, recalling a time of her youth. “One slip. All it takes is one slip and everything you are is gone, replaced by madness. Or so I’ve been told.”

“I sense uncertainty from you,” Carmen remarked. 

Wynne set aside her teacup. “Of late, I’ve begun to wonder. If an abomination could be cured. Or if a mage could be possessed, yet still retain their sanity. Their conscience. But the Chantry says...” Her brows furrowed, the mage suddenly unsure.

She had to admit that she wondered that herself. After all, that was exactly what had happened to her. Carmen had let a spirit into her body, and she could deny the term all she wanted, but the truth of the matter was that she had been possessed. And then, it had simply _left_ , just as it promised it would. Yet the lasting touch of its power left an impression on her, she could feel it in her veins. Carmen would never get over how absolutely stupid she was for inviting the spirit in. But she was alive, and despite it all, she was still herself.

“Toss what the Chantry says. What’s an abomination to you?”

“Madness and cruelty,” Wynne answered. “Something that is no longer a person.”

Carmen grimaced. “Then if someone has retained their true self…” she said, letting the woman fill in the rest for herself.

“Yes...” Wynne pondered over her words deeply for a moment. “If the mage remembers the person they are, then they are not an abomination. I never saw it that way before.” 

She didn’t say anything else, leaving her to her thoughts. Carmen traced her fingers over her shield absentmindedly, sliding them along the engravings while she recalled the hideous face of the demon they had fought. A monstrous thing, leeching off of the decrepit frame of a once healthy boy. That was all that thing was. A parasite. It left her shaking with disgust, and she subconsciously pressed her shield closer to her, holding it like a child held its teddy bear for comfort. 

Thoughts of ‘what ifs’ raced through her mind. Of what could’ve been done differently. Maybe if they had conducted the blood ritual from the beginning, or if she had just sent Morrigan to confront the demon instead. Carmen knew such thoughts were dangerous and would only send her into a spiral of self-doubt, but they plagued her mind nonetheless. 

“Connor wasn’t gone, you know?” she finally said, breaking the silence. “Not fully anyway. I saw glimpses of what the boy once was. Cracks in the cage the demon forced him into. In his final moments, when I held him in my arms, it was Connor that spoke to me. It was Connor who died.”

Wynne made an attempt to press a hand to her shoulder, but retracted when the elf flinched away. She sighed. “He was too far gone at that point, Warden, you must understand this. Regret is a poisonous thing, I should know. Do not let your actions weigh in your conscience for the rest of your life.”

Carmen noted the hint of lament in her voice, and wondered if she would one day sound just as old and grizzled as Wynne was in the coming decades. That is, if Carmen even managed to live that long. She knew Wynne didn’t have many years left in her either. Soris had once teased her about how jaded she was. The memory of her cousins’ voices reminded her once again of just how close they were to Denerim. When the tower of Ishal was lit, and when hope was answered with nothing, Carmen was sure she would never see their faces again. It was almost surreal. She could already imagine the disbelieving faces when they would meet her new travelling companions. Did they even know if she was still alive? Carmen smiled at the thought. _I’m coming home._

* * *

Bodhan agreed to wait near the city’s gates with Sandal. The market was probably going to be too crowded for their cumbersome cart, but dozens of folks passed into the city day in and day out. The two would have no problem with business for the coming days. Carmen intended to stay for a week or two at most, for their quest for the sacred ashes was why they were truly here in the first place. But it wouldn’t hurt to catch up with familiar faces again, restock for supplies, get some new intel, and head to the Gnawed Noble Tavern to fetch themselves a meal that wasn’t just hunted game for once. She was famished.

“Are you sure it’s wise to bring Shale into the city?” Wynne glanced at the golem, before turning back to her. “A golem would certainly stick out like a sore thumb.”

“You’re gonna hurt their feelings, Wynne,” she jested. “And it’ll be fine. They’ll be like our personal bodyguard.” 

Shale’s crystals dimmed. “If it is worried I will attract unwanted attention, I can stand perfectly still. Those simpletons will never tell me apart from those statues they love to keep,” they said dryly. 

“It’s true,” she said to Wynne. “Long as they don’t find out Shale’s worth more than a noble’s daughter, they won’t bat an eye.” 

“And as long as there are no pigeons in the city, all will be well,” Shale finished.

Carmen winced, unsure of whether to break it to ‘em. The city was a pigeon hotspot. Breadcrumbs in the ginnels for days, copious amounts of flapping, and faeces painted over the rooftops, sizzling under the scorching sun ‘til the rain took care of it. That was basically central Denerim, for those uninitiated. If it wasn't pigeons, then it was corvids. Little shits those buggers were, but they were damn clever. They remembered faces better than anyone and were often used by bandits. 

Oh, she could smell the stench of Denerim from here. The smoke of chimneys that polluted the sky, the rancid waste and rats that scurried about the poorer areas, metal and coal as the local blacksmith hammered the burning rods into blades. Carmen remembered it all. Immigrants called it the most dangerous city in Ferelden. The locals would agree. For every scorn and side-eye thrown at an Orlesian, you’d find a strung up body of an elf if you looked hard enough. In a few years, there wouldn’t be enough space in the paupers' field. _Home sweet home._

“Aight, it’s a big city, so I’m thinkin’ we split up. We’ll cover more ground that way,” Carmen addressed the party. “Sten and Shale, you keep an eye out for Loghain’s soldiers. Their armour bears the emblem of a dragon. Morrigan, you too. Your many forms can get you to every nook and cranny, and if you hear anything interesting, you come straight back. The rest of you lots are with me, we’ll diverge into smaller groups when we reach the lower districts, then regroup at the market’s tavern.” 

They nodded collectively, ready to embark. Morrigan was already in flight, the transformation into a crow causing Shale’s crystals to grow in surprise, before they retracted dejectedly. 

“It’s been years since I’ve been to Denerim,” Leliana said to herself. “I wonder if that one store is still open.”

Alistair pulled Carmen aside, right before they entered the city. She waved to the others, signalling for them to keep going, while the two Wardens trailed behind. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Carmen nearly groaned. _Not this again._ “Don’t tell me you’re going to drop yet another bombshell on me.” She still hadn’t gotten over their last fight, but that was not what she wanted right now. “What’s it gonna be this time? Your mother was actually the runaway queen of Antiva, making you the lost prince of not just one nation, but of _two._ ” 

When he didn’t respond right away, her eyes started to widen. Thankfully, he quickly assuaged her fears when he saw her expression.

“Nothing so wild like that. It’s just…” Alistair scratched the back of his neck, a common gesture of his these months whenever he was nervous. “Did you know I have a sister?”

This time, her eyes really did widen. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean I guess you could say she’s a half-sister. Only I never knew about her. I don’t think she knows about me either. My birth was a dirty secret kept hidden to everyone but Arl Eamon. But eventually, I did some ‘ _searching’_.” He even made sure to emphasize the last word. 

Carmen tried to run through an image of Alistair doing any sort of espionage, and chuckled. 

“Imagine my surprise when I found out she’s still alive.”

“And she’s here? In Denerim?” 

“She is!” Alistair exclaimed. “She’s the only family I have left, and the only one who has no ties to the mess that is royalty. Her name is Goldanna. From what I found, she lives just outside the alienage. Maybe this isn’t the best time, but I’m thinking I should finally see her. Before the Blight swallows Ferelden, you know?”

Carmen understood where this was going. “And you want me to come with?”

“Well, that’s not what I’m asking. You don’t have to if...well…”

“Alistair.” She stopped him. “It’s fine. I’ll go with you if you like. We’ll be staying in Denerim for at least a few days anyway, so there’s plenty of time. I got some business of my own to attend to as well, so when we’re in the area, we’ll take a look.”

“That would be really nice actually.” Alistair almost sounded relieved and excited all the same. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Alistair looked at her quizzically. 

“For the things I said, the other day,” Carmen clarified. “You had every right to yell at me.”

He rubbed his brow tiredly. “Forget about it, it’s-”

“No, I mean it,” she interrupted. “It was wrong of me to say the things I said to you.” Carmen sighed. “You’re...you’re not a coward. And I’m sorry things had to turn out the way they did.”

“Me too,” Alistair muttered softly. “You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s not about deserve.” Carmen scowled to herself. “That word is a crutch for the weak. I know what I did, and I stand by what I thought was the best course of action at the time. I choose to live with that.”

“I don’t know if I can accept that...” Alistair began, swallowing. “...But I’m willing to try.”

She looked at him then, and saw only honesty in his eyes. Carmen nodded slowly, feeling the tension in her guts ease just that slightly. Allowing herself a small but grateful smile, the two hurried back to the others. The gates and cobblestones greeted her like it did hundreds of times she came through this way before, and for once, she didn’t shrivel her nose at the usual mice that darted past her feet. 

“Just so you know though, drinks are on you,” Alistair added. 

She laughed at that, pulling her hood over her head. “Already on the docket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slower, more relaxed chapter to prepare for the next. Carmen and Alistair haven't exactly completely reconciled, but we'll get there in due time.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	23. The Hound of Denerim

“And you better not show your face here again, boy! You and that elven wench of yours!”

The door loudly slammed shut. 

Alistair had the face of a man who had just been slapped. “Well, that went worse than I expected.”

“Maybe next time someone is rude to you, you should give them your unborn child, 'cause _fifteen sovereigns_ doesn't seem like enough,” Carmen chided. She couldn’t help her sarcasm this time, for she had bit her tongue during the entirety of Goldanna’s insults.

“I just wanted to help her!” Alistair tried to explain, his face sheepish. “I thought she’d...I don’t know what I thought. I guess she wasn’t what I expected.”

Carmen sighed, but her eyes were sympathetic. “Mate, some people just aren’t worth it.”

“Maybe,” he said dolefully. “This was a mistake. You must think I’m a complete idiot.”

“Naive, maybe. But an idiot?” Carmen shook her head. “Nay. Just someone who wants a family after being neglected for so long. No shame in that.” 

She led him away from the house and away from prying eyes. This probably wasn't the best time or place, but Carmen didn't know when it would ever be a 'good time', so it might as well be now. “Here,” she said, reaching for his hand and enclosing a locket over his open palm. “A peace offering.” 

He inspected the silver locket with an inquisitive stare, before recognition sparked within him. “Wait a minute, this belonged to my mother! Wha-where...how?”

She stifled a chuckle at his excitement. “Eamon’s study.”

“Oh. Then he must’ve repaired it back together and kept it.” Alistair held the piece of jewelry reverently, almost afraid it was going to shatter again. “Every last piece that broke apart. I don’t understand, why would he do that?”

Carmen shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. “Maybe you meant more to him than you think.”

“I...guess you could be right.” Alistair caressed the locket with a whimsical look. “All the things I said to him, and he still...” He closed his eyes before carefully storing it away. “I can’t believe you remembered. I’m more used to people not listening when I go on about things.”

Carmen allowed herself to be smug. “Hmm, what was that?”

He rolled his eyes in faux-annoyance, shoving her shoulder playfully before laughing. “Thank you. I mean it. I thought I’d lost this to my own stupidity. I’ll need to talk to him about this, if... _when_ he wakes up.”

“He will,” she assured him. “I’ll personally drag his arse from the Fade if I have to.”

Alistair grinned. “Somehow, I believe that.”

* * *

The Warden had been nervous, Leliana noticed. Both of them had been, actually. Carmen and Alistair had exchanged a few words before they entered a laundress’ house. She was content with waiting for them while Wynne and Zevran shopped for supplies, admiring the scenery that was Denerim. It was a far cry from Val Royeux. There were no rich hangings, splendid marble columns, or any golden lions that dazzled her. But it was hardly unstylish. Even after all these years, she considered the architecture to be easy on the eyes, cosy and comfortable even. The Fereldan aesthetic was preserved, even long after the Orlesian occupation. 

Minutes later, the two Wardens returned. 

Leliana arched an eyebrow. “You two alright?”

“We...” Alistair actually looked content for the first time in weeks. He gave her an easy smile. “Yeah, we’re alright,” he said, with Carmen nodding once.

Whatever had happened between the two of them, things were starting to look up for them again. She was glad. Leliana couldn’t imagine the two of them not being friends. They had survived Ostagar together, after all. That wasn’t just something they could forget, and to let a traumatic incident tear apart the bond they shared wouldn’t have been right. She returned the smile, happy for them both. 

Carmen slid beside them. “So, how’s the restock going? Merchants aren't giving you folks any trouble, are they?”

“Warden, please tell Zevran we cannot waste away our coin to buy all these Antivan herbs,” Wynne said, casting the assassin a reprimanding glance.

“But my dear, wait until you sprinkle it with the chicken breast.” Zevran breathed in the scent of the spices in the package, sighing blissfully. “You will not regret it, especially after a week of bland Fereldan stew.” 

Carmen couldn’t help but agree. Even though she had told Alistair to maintain a lamppost distance away from the pot at all times, their pantry was still limited when it came to variety. There was only so much she and Morrigan could do. “That with garlic bread, kebab, and shrimp? I’m sure we can afford _some_ indulgence now and then.”

“You see? A woman of taste.” 

The mage simply gave up at this point and resigned to her fate. The two continued down the market aisle, bickering over what was and wasn't appropriate to buy. Well, Wynne was the only one getting up in arms about it, muttering something about 'financial responsibility'.

“Alistair and I should probably head to Wade’s and get some new armour forged as well,” Carmen added, tapping the metal of her chestplate. “Been wearin’ these old things since Ostagar.” 

Leliana noticed that as well. ”Now that you mention it, I don’t think you’ve worn anything but that. It would be nice to see you out of your armour for once.” _Wait, no._ Leliana stopped before she could make a jester of herself even further, feeling herself start to panic at the slip. “I-I mean out of your armour and into something more casual, of course, not...”

Carmen chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I know what you mean.” Thankfully, the Warden was merciful enough to hold off from poking fun at her. A pleasant scent from a different stall caught her attention. She paid the baker and tucked away a box full of biscuits into her pack. “Cookies,” she said contently. “Sten’ll appreciate these.” 

In the middle of browsing for poultices, Alistair paused in surprise. “The big guy likes cookies?”

“I know, who would’ve thought huh? Apparently, they don’t make these in Seheron.” Carmen turned back to Leliana. “You need any more arrows, lass?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m okay for now, thank you.”

Carmen scratched her chin in thought. ”Maybe after this, we’ll still have enough coin to finally get you a new lute, yeah?”

Indeed, she was due for a new one. The one she left Lothering with had been destroyed after a particularly rough battle. A genlock had knocked her weapons away, forcing her to reach for the instrument and unceremoniously bash its head in as a last resort. The process had unfortunately broken the bridge and strings right off the fretboard, rendering it unplayable.

Though Leliana wasn’t going to waste coin on non-essentials, she was grateful for the offer. “Is this just your way of saying you’d like to hear me play again?”

Carmen flashed her a smirk, throwing her hands up in surrender. “What can I say? It’s nice to have your own personal bard. Only the nobility've been able to afford that kind of luxury. I'm not about to let it pass.”

“Like what you hear?”

She thought for a moment, before answering with a suave expression. “Your singing is like...eating pie and finding out it has extra filling.” 

Leliana laughed, blushing despite herself. “Never took you for a poet,” she teased.

“Sure I am.” 

The girl's smile made Leliana's heart stutter and skip rapidly like several staccatos. It was the first time in weeks-no, _months_ that she had even seen Carmen let herself have a smile that wasn't every bit feral, bitter, or sadistic. It was a _real_ smile, one that reached her eyes for once, and Leliana never wanted it to go away. A few strands of hair had fallen loose from Carmen's braid, over that carefree look in her eyes, and Leliana had to resist the urge to reach out and tuck them back behind her pointed ears. 

She was curious, though. “Ever want to give it a go yourself?”

“Me, _singing?”_ Carmen scoffed at the notion, and crossed her arms. “Perish the thought. Things go wrong when I sing, just like how things go wrong when Alistair leads. We both know our weaknesses, ain’t that right mate?” 

Alistair was, however, too busy stuffing cheese wheels into his sack to pay any attention, as he avoided the hungry snout of her mabari, desperate to clamp his jaw over a mound of Orlesian feta. She almost giggled at the sight.

But Leliana wasn’t ready to let her off the hook. “Oh, come on.” She nudged her playfully. “I bet you’d be an excellent singer.”

Carmen sent her an incredulous look. “You’ve no idea what you’re asking.”

“And _you_ still haven’t answered my question.” 

“If you two are quite finished,” Wynne drawled, breaking their banter. “We still need to rent a few rooms if we are to stay in Denerim. Shall we meet at the inn?”

“That’s the plan,” Carmen said. “In the meantime, I got someplace I need to be.”

“Want me to come with?” Leliana offered.

There seemed to be hesitance behind Carmen’s eyes, before she nodded, her light-hearted demeanour from a minute ago suddenly replaced with uncertainty and a subdued look. “If you like,” she replied. The Warden was certainly remarkable at switching gears quickly, she noted.

Leliana followed her past the crowd of the market and onto a road that led to a pair of towering gates that had been boarded up. They were going to the alienage! It was only then that she realized how out of the element she would be. She had never been to an alienage before. At least, not the one here in Denerim. Was this where Carmen’s family lived? The one she remembered from Halamshiral was different. It took up a much larger area, and there were many elven working. Most of the humans kept to themselves in the High Quarter.

A few metres away was a little, elven girl. She couldn’t have been older than twelve years. Her clothes were ragged, torn, and worn-out. Poor girl didn’t even have proper footwear. She was sitting with her back against the wall. Carmen knelt before her.

“Amelia? What are you doing out here at this hour?” The girl didn’t reply. “Aren’t you supposed to be helpin' your da mill the grains?”

Still, the little girl didn’t respond. Something was definitely not right here, Leliana thought.

“What’s the matter?”

Finally, Amelia shook her head. She pointed her finger towards the alienage. 

Unease etched its way onto Carmen’s face. She slowly got closer to her. “Okay, well, doesn’t look like you’ve taken care of yourself lately. Here,” she said, handing the girl four sovereigns. “Get yourself some shoes and a proper meal, yeah?” The girl nodded and walked away. “Atta girl.”

“Something’s wrong,” Carmen said to her as she stood back up. “Stay close.”

A guard up ahead who was stationed by the alienage’s gates stopped them with a halt. “Go no further. The alienage is not to be opened for anyone. Be on your way,” he spoke in a bored voice, as if this wasn’t the first time he had to relay those words to someone. 

Carmen’s brows furrowed. “Why is it all boarded up? I need to get inside.”

“You think you’re the only one? What’d I just tell you? Alienage’s been purged after them elves started another riot. Casualties are pretty high. Until we decide that things have calmed down, nothing and no one comes in or out. Arl Rendon Howe’s orders.”

 _What?_ Leliana froze where she stood, filled with dread. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. _Purged. Casualties._ The guard’s words made her sick to the stomach and her head spin. And there was that name again, Rendon Howe. She could only imagine what Carmen must’ve been feeling. There was a certain sense of helplessness in hearing the worst news Leliana could possibly hear, but directed at someone she cared for. It was a twisted feeling of relief that this was not something Leliana had to deal with, that it was not ‘ _her problem_ ’, but also the overwhelming guilt and an awful horridness in knowing it was something her friend would be put through emotionally. No one should hear that your family _may or may not be_ dead, and then denied the ability to find them or do anything. That was a special kind of cruelity.

It almost took a solid two seconds for Carmen to even process the words. Her face had paled. “What do you _mean_ it was purged? My family’s in there, this is my _home,_ let me in now!” Carmen demanded, her voice laced with frustration, teetering off the edge of control.

But the city guard was unaffected by her efforts, dismissing her with an arrogant curl of his lips. “I wouldn’t be so loud about that if I were you. Your kind’s been causing all sorts of problems lately. You would do well to watch your tone.”

That was enough to tip her over, as Carmen roughly grabbed the guard by the collar with both hands until their faces were inches apart. “With what I’m about to do to you, you’d’ve wished my tone was all you had to deal with, _shem._ ”

Leliana’s eyes widened in horror, realizing that the Warden would absolutely go through with the promise of killing him where he stood. “Carmen, no!”

The guard struggled against her iron grip, hitting her wrists in an attempt to break free. But such actions were futile. Suddenly, recognition flashed before his face. “You’re her, aren’t you?” Angry disgust marred his expression. “I’ll have you reported and hanged in the gallows!”

Alistair, who must’ve seen Carmen nearly kill the man, rushed to the scene in an instant. “What’s going on here?” Morrigan had appeared behind him as well, watching them with calculating eyes. 

The guard finally managed to wiggle out of Carmen’s hold. Thankful that there were more people here, he addressed him. “This your elf? Should’ve put a leash on her!” he said with a grimace. 

Before things could escalate, another guard stepped into the scene. “Hold. What is the meaning of this?”

“Sergeant Kylon!” the guard exclaimed at the sight of his commanding officer. “We ought to chain this elf!” he barked.

Leliana found herself stepping in front of Carmen, feeling oddly protective of her, even though she knew there was no need for such a thing. If diplomacy failed, and Carmen did end up in a cell, they could always break her out afterwards.

“And I ought to kill you where you stand after what you swines did,” Carmen snapped. “You think these doors will stop me?”

“Don't be _foolish_ ,” Morrigan hissed at her. “Unless you want the entire city guard after us. Leave your love and longing behind if you want to survive.”

The sergeant ignored the both of them for the moment, and instead, turned his attention at Alistair. “State your business here...” he ordered, glancing at the emblem on his chestplate. “...Warden.”

“We’re just passing through Denerim, sir,” answered Alistair. “We don’t mean any trouble.”

Kylon narrowed his eyes. “That remains to be seen. I’m no Loghain supporter, but step out of line, and it’s straight to the dungeons for you two.”

The guard that had just been threatened gaped. “But sergeant-!”

“Drop it,” Kylon interrupted. “We’ve already got enough to contend with in the lower districts. Let them go.” 

Leliana watched them leave, feeling like the worst has yet to pass. Luck would have it that someone like Kylon had passed along. Letting Carmen force herself into the alienage would be disastrous, even if every part of her was down with helping her scale the walls with a rope and hook. It was plausible if they managed to do it at night, but with the night patrol, it would be too risky. And Leliana was afraid for what Carmen would find if she did manage to get to the other side. 

“That reminds me,” Morrigan said. “I spotted Loghain’s men at that forsaken brothel they love to flock to.”

“We should keep a low profile,” Alistair muttered. 

“For once, I agree with the ex-templar.” Her eyes held no malice towards the elf however, looking at her with what Leliana considered to be the closest the witch ever came to appear sympathetic.

Carmen sighed, staring at the barricaded doors of the entrance to her home bitterly, before she turned away. “Let’s just settle in at the inn. We’ll find Brother Genitivi’s house tomorrow.”

Leliana wanted to tell her that there was no guarantee that Carmen’s family died in there, that there was a chance that they still yet lived. But that would’ve been more shallow than anything uttered between nobles at an Orlesian party. To Carmen, the _alienage_ was her family, not just those of her blood. Leliana never had the pleasure of having a real family, but she wouldn’t have responded any differently had _she_ found out that strangers were responsible for the murder of the people she cared for dearly. She reached out to comfort her, but when Carmen shrugged her off her arm with a harsh ‘ _don’t’_ , Leliana retracted her hand, the feeling of rejection settling into her already sorrow-filled chest. She would be alright, wouldn’t she?

When they arrived at the Gnawed Noble Tavern, with the rest of the companions already waiting by the door, the sun had begun to set, marking the skies with tinges of pink and purple. They each looked at the elf with concern, but no one approached her about it. Either way, she paid them no mind. Carmen stopped Zevran for a second just before he stepped in.

“Hoods up,” she said, pulling her own over her head.

Zevran looked at her curiously, but obeyed without question, pulling his own black hood over. There was something in his expression that said he had an inkling as to why Carmen had told him to do so.

The smell of the brewery and fresh meals greeted her the instant they stepped in, while beneath that aroma lay the underlying scent of resin and wood-chips. The tavern itself wasn’t as loud and dirty as the one back in Lothering — Dane’s Refuge. This one was more appropriate for those that were of the higher class, Leliana could already tell, and its name wasn’t just for show. Still, that didn’t take away the core essence of what made every tavern. The music and the drinks, of course. And the people. All sorts of people, from nobles to shady patrons, went about their day in a busy tavern, with pretty waitresses who carried glasses of all sorts, hurrying across the hard-wood floor to deliver to customers. A fireplace warmed the loft, illuminated further by lighted niches and heavy timber trusses with rustic chandeliers. 

They found an empty table at the corner of the room. A rowdy bunch of men were seated on the next one, most likely drunken to a stupor, but it was the only available table that had enough seats for all of them, so it would have to do. As everyone grabbed their own desired chairs, Carmen put down her pack on hers. 

“Gonna talk with some acquaintances, you can order without me. I’ll be back,” she said stiffly. 

“Carmen...” Leliana started, worried another situation like before would arise should she be left alone, but the elf was already off.

“She’ll be fine,” Zevran said coolly. “You must give her space. Our Warden knows herself best.”

Leliana huffed. “She almost killed a man! She shouldn’t be alone after learning about what happened to her home.”

“She’s in shock,” Zevran corrected dryly, “not senseless.” The drinks came, and he poured himself a scotch, leaning back against his chair. “As she said, there are acquaintances she has to speak with.”

“Maker’s mercy, I can’t imagine how she must feel.” Wynne tried to remain stoic, but even she couldn’t hide the cracks of concern in her face. “What if she does anything irrational?”

“‘Tis folly to wonder of ‘what ifs’,” Morrigan said casually, swirling her black coffee with a small spoon. “All we can do is trust in the Warden.” Wiping the table, the witch brought out a large, black book she had been reading the past week and continued from where she left off. 

“You’re always on that thing,” Alistair remarked.

“And you’re always on my nerves.”

“I try.”

While they all waited for the food to arrive. Sten and Blue were content with the cookies, the former far too wary of anything else that was served in the tavern. Minutes later and Carmen still hadn’t come back. The longer she was away, the greater the disquiet had become, settling over them while her restlessness became unbearable. Time had a way of passing so much slower when worry nestled into the stomach and twisted the knot. 

“I’m worried about her.” Leliana thumbed the handle of her beverage that she had yet to touch. She nervously glanced in the direction of Carmen’s last known location. 

Zevran tutted. “Our Warden is a city elf, first and foremost. She is a woman who has survived and made her living by thriving off of Denerim’s underworld, evidently well connected too, it appears. I believe you are vastly underestimating her.”

“Don’t you want to save that kind of speech for when she’s around to hear it?” Alistair asked with a sneer. “If it’s getting into her bed you’re after.” 

It was no surprise that Alistair still didn’t trust the Antivan. Truth be told, she didn’t either. But he hadn’t given her any reason to kill him. Yet. She knew Zevran was a smart man. If he wanted to finish the job, he could’ve done so many nights ago. It was as easy as slipping a drop of poison in their food when no one was watching, and feigning ignorance afterwards. Not that the others hadn’t been watching him like a hawk at all times, Alistair especially. Even Morrigan wasn’t so stupid as to not inspect her food, and her many animal forms granted her way better opportunities to catch any wrong moves from the former assassin, far better than anyone else could. But a single second of complacency was all it would take. 

Leliana hoped he was true to his word. Because having Zevran on their side would prove to be advantageous in ways she couldn’t begin to describe. There would be no deadlier duo than an Orlesian bard and an Antivan Crow to make Loghain and his allies think twice before crossing them. 

“There’s no need for bootlicking. I believe my good looks alone can pull that off. Though, I suspect she’s already enraptured by another, mi amigo.” Zevran smirked, no doubt grinding Alistair’s gears even more. “I’ve heard tales of the famed Grey Warden stamina, and dear Carmen is no stranger to killing. Oh, if she had been bought like I did, and trained at an early age, she would’ve made for a fine Crow.”

“She would’ve been miserable,” Leliana protested, feeling the need to indignantly speak for her friend.

“And you know this, how? She was a mercenary, was she not? Killing comes with the job, not very different from a bard.” The way he enunciated the last word told her he knew exactly what she was. He had probably known for a quite a while now.

But Leliana refused to rise to the bait. “She was a mercenary who earned coin to _survive._ ”

Zevran shrugged. “Perhaps. But I’ve seen the way she fights. There’s hunger in her eyes, and vengeance in the way she strikes. She is exhilarating to watch.”

Leliana had seen it too. The way Carmen looked at a man or a darkspawn like its mere choice to cross her path was a lethal mistake in and of itself. The way she unleashed a barrage of attacks with her spear like a whirlwind, finishing her opponent off with an enraged shield bash. It was majestic, and terrifying all the same. A tempest, leaving a trail of fresh bodies in its wake. But Carmen was also just a girl. When a battle ended, her shoulders would slump in fatigue, almost surprised at her ability to last that long, much less survive at all. Her unhinged fighting style was why she always ended up with more wounds and tears in her armour of all sorts, even when her shield deflected most of what came her way. Carmen always needed a bandage and nearly depleted Morrigan’s supply of elfroot one time, much to the witch’s displeasure. 

“So you’re saying she enjoys killing? That she would enjoy the life of an assassin?” Leliana frowned at the assassin, her hands tightening around the arm of her chair. “That life...she would never... _no._ It’s not worth it. You think it is thrilling, so enticing; the lies, deceit, assassinations, the _hunt_. But one day, you will awaken to find your brethren unleashed upon you at the first sign of weakness. In the end, you will realize you were nothing but another tool in the web of shadows, discarded once you’ve exhausted your use.” 

Leliana met his eyes sternly, unbothered by the troubled faces from the others. “No one like her should be exposed to that kind of world. You of all people should know how it feels.”

Zevran looked uncharacteristically contemplative, pushing aside his glibness for the first time. “I do. All I’m saying is that she has potential, not that she would want to be one.” He downed the rest of his drink, pouring another shot. “But regardless, she’s being held back.”

“Held back?”

He took another sip, before answering. “By sentimentality,” was all he said. Their conversation was cut short, however, by a loud crash.

A bottle of wine had dropped to the floor beside them, staining the carpet there crimson. One of the drunkards had passed out a little further to the right beside the mess, and another one was already stumbling his way towards them. Leliana could already smell the stench coming from him. The stench of heavy alcohol and unwashed clothes.

“Oi, you,” he slurred. “You look like you could use a good time. How ‘bout me and my boys from the Crimson Oars ‘ere show you around the house?”

Leliana tried to endure his terrible smell and mustered a placative expression. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t register her words, or he didn’t care. He placed his greasy hands on her shoulder, letting it trail to her neck. “Come on. I reckon I can show you how it’s done better than these lousy lots.” He gestured to the others, who had been watching the entire exchange with a range of emotions, from uncomfortable to riveted, almost interested to see what would happen next. 

Blue was the only one who was first to respond with anger, but even his growl was paid no mind, the man too stupefied by his alcohol to notice. Perhaps a hard ‘no’ to his face wouldn’t do. That would probably only agitate the man even more. But before she could reply, Alistair cut in.

“Are you daft? She said no, so lay it off!”

Leliana internally cringed. _Alistair, I could’ve handled this._ She sighed.

The drunkard scoffed away his attempts at chivalry. “I’m not talkin’ to you, fool. Piss off.”

Alistair puffed his chest. “You’re the one who should get lost, if you know what’s good for you.”

The merc bellowed out with laughter. “Well aren't you the knight in shining armour. Get a load of this guy.” His friends laughed along, engrossed with where this was going. With Alistair supposedly dismissed, he grabbed for her arm to drag her along with him. 

But out of nowhere, a voice called out from behind them. “Let her go.”

Leliana could recognize that voice anywhere, but still, she craned her neck to find the source. _Carmen._ She was back!

The man turned his head around with a scowl, annoyed by the interruption. “What’s it to you?” he said, clearly oblivious to who he was talking to. He ignored her, and his other hand reached for Leliana’s collar. 

“I said,” Carmen growled, pulling the man’s shoulder to face her. “Let. Her. _Go._ ” 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, bitch?” He was angry now, spinning to meet her fully. His friends also gathered beside him, sizing her up with evidently dark thoughts. He was much taller than Carmen, and when he swatted her hood away, he shrivelled his nose at the sight of her ears. “Sod off, rabbit.” He spat on her, a bold challenge, daring her to retaliate.

Carmen disregarded his jeers, and instead, forcibly pulled his hand off of Leliana with a wring to his wrist. But he flung it off.

“You get your filthy hands off me, you damn, dirty elf!”

The irony was not lost on her. But Carmen was staring the merc down without moving an inch, unshaken and unflinching. Her eyes were hard like steel, burning with fury. Leliana could feel the anger radiating off of her from where she was seated, and if she didn’t do something quickly, people were going to get hurt real soon. 

“It’s fine, Carmen.” Leliana tried to soothe her. “I’m alright. It's not worth it.”

“That’s right,” the man said with a smug smirk. He leaned towards the Warden with a taunt sent her way. “Better be a good lass and listen to your girlfriend over here. By the end of the night, I’ll be ploughin’ her so hard and so good, you’ll hear her screamin’ my n-”

Whatever he was about to say was immediately cut off literally, as Carmen grabbed him by his throat, choking his windpipe until he struggled to breathe. He attempted to free himself, but she wasn't about to even give him the chance and blocked his blind jab, reinforcing her grip from her other hand even further. His friends stood in dumbstruck shock while Carmen pushed him against the nearest wall with a loud _thud_. The noise made several people in the tavern stop what they were doing to see what was happening. No one seemed intent on stopping the enraged elf, either.

“You stupid, _fucking_ whoreson.” The Warden grit her teeth with a low snarl. “I’ll string you up like the _scum_ you are.”

She slammed him once, twice. The force of it caused the wood to nearly crack and the back of his head left a small smear of fresh blood. Her hold against his throat did not relinquish. In fact, it only continued to tighten, constricting he was blue in the face and his neck was bruised. 

“Carmen! Stop!” Leliana desperately called behind her, and it was enough to break the woman’s trance for a moment to loosen her grip before she snapped his neck. The drunkard weakly gasped for air.

He heaved, and for the first time, there was recognition as well as fear in his watery eyes. His voice croaked, “You...you’re the Hound, aren’t you?”

Carmen glared at him. “The Hound?”

Wincing not just in pain, he struggled to speak. “The Hound of Denerim. Ashen-haired elven woman...slaughtered an entire estate full of men, as if a rabid dire-wolf had been set loose.” He coughed fervently, before continuing. “Disappeared with another Warden, the rumours went,” he mustered.

Leliana stared at her friend with an astonished look. The truth of how and why Carmen became a Warden suddenly became so clear, and she cursed herself for not having pieced it together right when the guard announced that the alienage had been purged. Leliana had a horrible feeling that the two instances were connected, somehow.

“What in the sandwich blazes is this ruckus?!” yelled the bartender. He stomped on over to investigate.

Carmen finally let go of her victim fully, and he dropped to the floor with a hand clutching at his sore throat, his friends heaving him away. She took a few steps back, almost surprised by the fact that she had lost control. When her gaze met Leliana’s, she could see how shaken she was over what she witnessed, and the fiery rage that boiled inside her had now mellowed out into shame. 

The bartender stopped in front of her. He stood there with his jaw set, and immediately understood what Carmen was. “Get out,” he said.

Leliana paused, trying to regain her composure. “Sir, we didn’t mean-”

“Not you. _That_ one.” He pointed at Carmen. “We don’t serve knife-ears. _Out._ ”

Carmen turned and faced the bartender stolidly, as if studying him. Everyone was watching, waiting for what she would do. Something told Leliana the woman wasn’t going to be merciful this time, no matter what she did. Because there was only so much she could do or say before nothing reached Carmen’s ears. Still, she should've been doing something, saying _something_ to calm her. But Leliana could only watch, just like everyone else. 

The Warden stood at her full height and met his eyes. She was as tall as any average human woman when she was like this. One of her fists twitched, and Leliana waited for the worst to happen.

And then Carmen left. 

She squared her shoulders, turned the other way, and strode out of the tavern without another word. Didn’t even show signs of anger. Just the soft click of the door as it closed behind her.

Leliana blinked, and let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

Everyone else in the tavern went on with their conversations now that that was over with, some a little disappointed too if the faint grumbles were any indication. Brawls were a common occurrence in taverns after all, and many of them would've loved to have had an excuse. That would’ve been messy.

She glowered at the bartender. “Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Sorry luv, we don’t want no trouble. I’m sure you can understand that.”

“Then we’re not staying,” Alistair declared. He made a move to rise out of his seat, but Leliana put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. 

“Wait, let me handle this. Please? Just let me talk to her.” Leliana rubbed her brow, praying that it would go over well. It was the least she could do.

“I don’t think she’s in the mood to talk.”

“I know. But she shouldn’t be alone,” Leliana said. Alistair (bless him) understood. 

* * *

The previously colourful sky from the sunset before they entered the tavern was absent, replaced with stale, mute grey. A dark shade that told her night would soon be upon them. Thunder rolled in the distance, and either the storm was going to stay far away, or it was on the path of hitting Denerim in the next day or so. It wouldn’t be Denerim without rain, dark clouds, and wet streets. It wouldn’t be _Ferelden._

Leliana found her on the balcony of an abandoned building, not that far from the alienage. 

It wasn’t a difficult vantage point to reach. All it took was a little climb and a heave. Carmen didn’t pay her any mind, even if she knew the elf already heard her once she had grabbed the ledge and it creaked. _‘Heightened hearing, remember?’_ Carmen had teased her once. Or maybe she was just losing her touch as a bard. 

She approached her carefully, coming to a stop beside her. They both said nothing. Instead, Leliana continued to stare ahead, appreciating the scenery, even if it was miserably grey. It was calm, a stark contrast to the sharpness of a crowded tavern. 

“You can see it from here.” Carmen broke the silence first. “The Vhenadahl. The tree of our people.”

Leliana followed her gaze and was able to make out the tips of a tree’s branches in the far distance, past the alienage’s stone walls. 

“Hahren says it’s a way to remind us of what we once were. To remind us of our _roots_ , I guess you could say.” Carmen chuckled resentfully. “But having it is just a habit in most alienages now. I hear some let theirs wither and die. Better to use it for firewood than freeze to death in the winter, I guess.”

“Carmen.” Leliana looked at her with an unspoken question on her tongue.

The woman refused to meet her. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“That’s not...” Leliana didn’t care about that. She just wanted to be there for her. The pain and despair she saw in Carmen’s eyes was saddening to see. “Talk to me.”

“I’m fine,” came her clipped reply.

Leliana sighed, knowing just how much of a lie that was. “Carmen,” she said again, softer this time. “Stop telling me you’re fine.” She leaned against the railings of the balcony, rubbing her thumb. “Why did you leave?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know, Leliana. You know why.”

“You never gave off the impression of backing down the first time, but the bartender was too much?”

“The _bartender_ didn’t touch you. I wasn’t going to kill him merely because of his ignorance.” 

Leliana messaged the side of her head. She appreciated what Carmen tried to do. It was actually sweet, really. But one thing led to another, and by the end of it, the Warden was this close to bashing a man’s head in and crushing his windpipe with her bare hands. Had it been her, she would’ve talked her way out of the situation and tried to placate the man away. In her bard days, she would’ve had him wrapped around her finger. But with the others watching her today, that wasn’t possible. It was why she preferred to operate alone on the field, or with people who knew what she was doing. Only Zevran remained silent. If Alistair didn’t intervene, she was sure Wynne would have. They were good men and women, but sometimes, they didn’t understand that hard opposition was hardly necessary for that kind of situation. And Carmen? She had a heart down there, somewhere, Leliana knew. Even if the girl would sooner cut off one of her own limbs than to admit that.

Carmen looked at her own blood-stained hands. She then took a deep breath and straightened her back. “When I was little,” she started, “I knew a girl in the alienage once, a bit younger than I was. She was caught pickpocketing. And do you know what happens to misbehaving elves who dare pickpocket a human?”

Stretching, Carmen pointed to the gibbets a short distance down below, a few blocks away from the gates of the city. “Usually it’s a standard lynching, or their hands are cut off. But this one time, the man was feeling particularly creative that day.”

Her voice was emotionless, explaining everything in a factual, detached tone, and Leliana was unsettled by how flippant she was about all of it.

Carmen continued, “He owned three, black corsos. Mangy beasts, they were, and they hadn’t been fed in two days.”

Already, Leliana wasn't liking where this was going. 

“The bloke dragged her into the dog pen.” Her voice became low, while she retold every last detail vividly. “And I watched...as the hounds tore that girl apart to pieces.”

She sucked in a breath. “You didn’t do anything?”

The elf shook her head, eyes downcast. “No. I should have, but I did nothing. The remains of that little girl could be found in a bone pile outside the pen the next day, torn parts of her clothing still clinging to the marrow.”

Leliana grew ill at the thought, fighting the urge to puke. She knew the elves were abused often, but that someone could do something as sick as that was simply inhumane. There was no other way to describe it. Mistreatment of elven servants in Orlais were never a rare occurrence, that much was true, and even Leliana admitted to herself that she saw her fair share of that. But while Orlais hid its most ugly parts behind lavish curtains, decorated walls, and beautiful statues of gold, Ferelden shamelessly bared it out into the open for everyone to see. She didn't know which was worse.

“A pity I couldn't save her. But then again, who could have?” Carmen gripped the railing to steady herself. “I was supposed to be married, you know.” The words escaped her mouth impulsively, followed by regret. Like she wasn't supposed to say that, but they were said out loud, gone past the point of no return, so she might as well continue.

Leliana stared at her with a disbelieving look.

“I know, hard to picture me in the domestic life. Didn’t even get to know him.” The sad, regretful smile sent her way was a sorry sight. 

Taking a chance, Leliana carefully asked her next question with the delicacy of a mouse approaching a sleeping cat. “What happened, Carmen?”

The elf wrapped her arms around herself, chewing at the bottom of her lips as she struggled to find the words. Leliana began to think she had gone too far, and that Carmen wouldn't answer. But the sound of a slow, shaky exhale awarded her for her patience. “It was the eve of my wedding when they came. The son of the arl. Vaughan Kendells,” she spat with vitrol. “He took us, he and his goons. Dragged me, my cousin Shianni, and several of the other bridesmaids out of our homes. Sorris, my other cousin, came to rescue us. Nelaros was the only one who accompanied him. My betrothed. After Sorris found me, we went through the building, room by room, sword in hand.”

Leliana listened closely to her story, complete with stutters and hesitant pauses in between. Carmen had just given her a glimpse of what transpired, and Leliana was afraid to push too hard in case she closed down again. The elf brought her hands closer to herself, her frame slightly trembling and one of her legs tapping against the balcony floor. Leliana decided to stay quiet, letting Carmen continue at her own pace. 

At last, there was a mumble. “I killed them.” Carmen's empty stare was a disturbed look. “I...slaughtered them all. Every last one of ‘em. When I found out what they..what Vaughan did to Shianni, I lost control. The rage consumed me in the end, and it took Sorris shaking my shoulders for me to even snap out of it.”

Carmen closed her eyes. “I will never forgive myself for being the cause of this damn purge.” She rubbed her necklace absentmindedly. “But if you asked me if I would do something differently, should I somehow be given the chance to go back to that moment...” Carmen finally looked at her, eyes shining with unshed tears and her voice cracking. “I’d tell you, without a lie on my lips, that I wouldn’t hesitate to cut that bastard’s face open. _All over again._ ”

And Leliana realized right then, that given the chance, Carmen would do exactly that. It was an honest answer, an intensity that held a promise in it, and it was _that_ fact that shook her to the very core. That someone had hurt her enough to push her to that breaking point made Leliana want to go after them, even if such an endeavour was inane. She could understand, but never fully comprehend what her friend went through. Not without living through that type of trauma herself. Carmen’s rage was a culmination of years of abuse suffered under the humans. Even after biting back at the hand that hit her, Carmen’s people would continue to suffer the consequences. It just wasn’t _right._ Leliana had always stayed ignorant of the more horrific details of an elf's life in a human city, for reasons unknown. Perhaps it was just easier and less painful to stay oblivious. For years, she had a terrible habit of taking the pretty lies over the ugly truths. Never again.

Leliana rubbed her back softly. “What happened to your betrothed?”

Carmen swallowed. “He didn’t make it.” She pulled out the necklace she always wore, the one tied to a silver ring. The one Carmen always fiddled with these days. “This was the wedding band. Now it's just a reminder. I wear it now to remember his sacrifice, and my failure. A life pointlessly lost for someone he didn't even know.” Her face contorted into anger and grief. 

“It was a life he risked for someone who was going to be his wife.” 

“That’s not the _point_. It didn’t have to end this way!” Carmen ran her hands harshly through her hair. “The Warden who conscripted me was there the entire time. He could’ve done...I don’t know, _something._ But it had to resort to violence. It always does in the end.” Her shoulders drooped in exhaustion, and she suddenly looked far older than someone her age. “If the Maker saw what any of us did that day, he didn't seem to care.”

“He _does_ care,” Leliana tried to convince her, even though she knew how hollow it sounded. “You’re alive.”

“But at what cost?” Carmen rested her elbows on the railings and leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands and rubbing her forehead. “I don’t want to do this anymore, I can’t. I just...I just want to go _home._ ” She sounded like a frightened child then. “But I’m never seeing them again, am I?”

Watching Carmen become this crestfallen was almost too much. Leliana should’ve told her otherwise. That she _was_ going to see her family again. That the Maker had plans for her, things happened for a reason, and that ‘ _everything will work out in the end, you’ll see’_. Wasn’t that what a lay sister was supposed to do? Leliana should be the one to inspire faith in others, and tell them that all would be right if they just believed. But instead, she simply wrapped her arms around the girl in a gentle hug. 

“It's okay,” Leliana said softly. 

Carmen stiffened at the contact, and it seemed as though she'd push her away, before she gave in and deflated in defeat. Tears fell when clenched fists and biting lips could do nothing more but draw blood. She melted into the embrace, and only when her head fell upon her shoulder, did Leliana realize just how badly Carmen was shaking. She held onto her like her life depended on it, like it was the only thing that kept her from falling. It was pressing, and needy, and desperate. How long had she been carrying this burden, suffering in silence? Was this the first time Carmen was allowed to properly grieve? There was another shudder as her fingers lingered at the notches of her back.

This, Leliana realized with a deep ache in her heart, was a woman with a lot of practice at crying silently.

In reality, things weren't okay. Leliana wasn’t sure if things were ever going to be, and she definitely couldn’t make things okay through sheer willpower and faith alone. It didn’t work like that. But she _could_ hold Carmen in that moment. Make small, indistinguishable sounds of comfort low in her throat. She could offer a shoulder to soak; an assurance that the rest of the companions would not hear what was not meant for them to hear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my favourite things about writing these stories is making my characters suffer, as sadistic as that sounds. Don't worry, they'll walk it off.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	24. Lamb Who Cried Wolf

Carmen bent down and let the fountain water wash away the heat of embarrassment on her face. Ice cold, just the way she preferred. It sent a shiver through her body, the last of her aftershocks she hoped, slowly stripping away the faint but hot tingle in her hands. She could go for a cold bath, it would do her right, but the process was unfortunately too time-consuming. The only thing she desired now was to find a place to sleep, and let the exhaustion eclipse her starved and empty stomach. Her reflection in the water mocked her, and she stared into the dark pools of her eyes, searching for something, anything, to hold onto underneath.

When the memories of _that_ day started to resurface, Carmen doused herself in the freezing water again, cleansing her of everything she was feeling. She wouldn’t let herself feel again. She had already revealed too much today, and that _the bard_ was the one who was allowed witness to that weakness was embarrassing. It was _disgusting_. It was the first time since the day of her conscription that she had let herself cry. Really cry, acknowledge the situation she was in, and let someone else see her that way. Gods, what a gaffe. No, Carmen couldn’t look her in the eyes again after that shameful display. So when Leliana told her to come back with her, and that she’d find a way for the both of them, Carmen simply nodded mutely at the ground, unfeeling. 

Leliana picked up on this, of course, and watched her with soft concern. “Do you trust me?” 

There was still hesitance in answering, and Carmen wondered if there’d ever be a day where there wasn’t hesitance. Even so, she nodded again. 

With a patient look, Leliana beckoned for her to follow. Back to the others, she said. Back to that downtrodden watering hole, where red wine and blood stained the carpet, seeping through the cracks in the hard-wood floor to be forgotten about like all the things that had been spilt there. 

It had been a little over a month since Alistair had told her she had thirty years left to live, and ever since then, everything seemed disjointed. The people, the cities, all of it. Carmen watched from afar, and it was just...people going about their daily lives, doing people things. There was this normalcy to it that was so strangely infuriating to her now. Two old men were bickering about which way the firewood should be stacked. A merchant was pickpocketed by a little boy earlier. A woman lost her expensive pair of gloves in the market. And all of it was so fleeting and irrelevant, but highlighted for display regardless. Carmen knew that someone, somewhere, had their heart broken right now, and she could feel nothing but envy. 

It was odd, too. These were things she never gave a single thought about before she became a Warden, but now it all seemed to be amplified for her to see and so blaring that she couldn’t help _but_ notice these little things. Like she was apart of that world of normalcy now, and could only be allowed to watch from a bird's eye view. The only colour she could hear in this muck-filled city was grey now. Not dirty grey, but that dingy sort of off-white grey that came from dust bunnies and washing clothes too much. Buildings faded by time and clothes that would never be as clean and bright as they used to be. The line between the living and the dead was blurred, and it was unclear how long Carmen would be able to continue to walk that line. Was it truly thirty years? Such a generous number, all things considered. If Carmen ever saw her father again, _if he was even still alive,_ she didn't think she'd be able to tell him. Not only because it would break his heart, but because she didn’t want to be remembered by her family as that daughter who was going to die before her father did. 

Carmen attempted to brush a strand of hair out of her face, but her hand promptly returned to her side as she figured she couldn’t be bothered to put in that little bit of effort. She stopped for a second and thought to herself, ' _Huh, the weather was nice today',_ before following Leliana back to the tavern.

The others noticed the two of them but said nothing. They only continued to watch with the drinks in their hands. A wordless exchange between Leliana and Zevran was made with a single flash of their eyes as they walked through the alehouse, and the unrest in her grew. The Crimson Oar mercenaries from before were gone, but even so, Carmen instinctively reached for her hood. Leliana’s hand stopped her while she gave her a meaningful look. The grip was gentle, yet firm, a silent plea for her not to hide again. Carmen's eyes narrowed, but she relented and kept her hood down, praying she didn’t have to kill someone tonight. It was too soon. 

“Do you trust me?” Leliana asked again, more seriously this time. 

Wary, but getting the feeling she had something up her sleeve, Carmen nodded in affirmation. Relief passed Leliana’s face for a second before she continued walking again. They reached the end of the tavern, where the bartender from before was wiping a tankard with a dry cloth. It took a minute for his attention to be drawn upward. But when he caught sight of her, he had to do a double-take before his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. She stifled a snicker. If Carmen was even a little tipsy, she might’ve laughed out loud just from the satisfaction of eliciting that reaction from him at all.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he began to spout. “I thought I made it clear that this elf wasn’t welcome back ‘ere!”

Carmen winced. The fact that his indignant protests were predictable did nothing to lessen how grating the sounds were. Her hand closed into a fist, but Leliana’s hand sneaked behind to still her. Plastering a guilty expression, the bard leaned against the counter with a submissive stature. 

“I’m terribly sorry, ser, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. You see,” Leliana gestured to her, “this is my servant. Paid quite the hefty sum to acquire her too. I can’t afford to leave her out of my sights, now can I? You know how rebellious elves can be.”

She couldn't stop her eyes from widening, but the hand touching her own from below the counter gave a little squeeze, and Carmen could only watch for the bartender’s reaction with renewed interest. Leliana was _challenging_ him, she realized, and that he also happened to be the innkeeper that held the keys to their potential rooms raised the stakes. This took a turn she was _not_ expecting, and she fully intended to see the end of it with renewed interest. So Carmen stayed quiet, crossing her arms.

Apparently, it was a surprise to him as well. “Servant? You...arm your servants?” The bartender eyed the weapons on her back with a suspicious glance.

“Why yes. She carries my luggage, fetches me things, even protects me,” Leliana explained smoothly. “Which was exactly what she was doing when those rude men earlier tried to threaten me. Perhaps she went a little too far, and I do apologize on her behalf, but I promise to reign in the leash sooner next time. This was all just one big misunderstanding.”

“Hmm, I suppose,” he said warily. “Those whippersnappers have been a rowdy bunch since daybreak. Can’t say I’ll ever shed any tears for 'em.”

She hummed. “I understand. I can imagine they must’ve been giving you quite the headache. Me and my friends were simply looking for a nice place to wind down and re-freshen ourselves. It has been a _very_ long journey, and we’re all _..._ ” Leliana glanced at her, then back to him, placing a hand on his arm once. “...Incredibly famished and tired. You understand that, don’t you?” 

The bartender blinked several times, before nodding. “Aye, of course.”

Leliana leaned in closer against the counter, and her arms openly sprawled forward in his direction, exposing herself to him in a relaxed manner. “Alas, few are willing to be hospitable, especially during these dark times. Maker, it’s a shame there aren’t many men left who are willing to offer us kind folk some refuge.”

“I...” Coughing to clear his throat, the man straightened his collar. “I have a few rooms upstairs, if you’re lookin’ to stay the night and then some.”

Carmen nearly rolled her eyes at Leliana's coy smile when she caught the man's eyes trailing a little further below her neck, his attention on the elf completely forgotten at this point. The bard was close, but far away just enough that she was out of reach to him. It was all very much amusing to watch Leliana bat her eyelashes and play the part of a femme fatale so expertly. But if she played the part a little too well, and if the man began to have any nasty ideas...well, Carmen really hoped she didn’t have to bring out the dagger. At least not after all of Leliana’s hard work. Having been around this long, she learned to recognize that look of desire. Men saw beauty and oftentimes their first instinct was to pluck it up by its roots.

“Oh, that would be so considerate.” Leliana slid a small pouch of coin across to him. “This will suffice, yes? It’s the least I can offer for someone so generous.”

“This'll do,” he confirmed, taking the payment graciously. “You mentioned you travelled with friends, right? Take the three rooms upstairs at the end of the hallway to your left.” He slid Leliana the keys, but held onto them just as she grabbed the tips. “And uh, should you need anything else, you know where to find me.” The innkeeper winked at her as he finally let go of the keys. 

Leliana let out a breathy laugh that sent a tingle through her. “Of course, if I need anything, you will be the first to know.” She licked her lips, as the corners of her mouth rose.

Both he and Carmen were left to watch Leliana strut back to the others, for different reasons entirely. Snapping herself back to the moment, Carmen let out an audible _hmph_ at the man, before turning her heel and following after Leliana. 

“Nicely done,” Zevran said, giving a small toast with his drink. 

Alistair looked confused. “What did you do?”

Leliana was gloriously smug. “I,” she said while jingling the keys, “just got us some rooms, without compromising any of the present company.” She smiled warmly at Carmen, and the Warden couldn’t help but return it.

“Played him like a fiddle, didn’t you?”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Morrigan said with a smirk. “Men are always willing to believe two things about a woman: one — that she is weak, and two — that she finds him attractive. She played the weak girl in need of a man's help. Child's play. I expected nothing less from a bard.”

With a shrug, Leliana returned to her seat. “People tend to believe in conclusions they arrive at by themselves.”

Carmen poured herself a shot. “Well, I always thought the best way to a man's heart was through the third and fourth rib. But I guess this works too.”

“Remind me never to court you in any scenario,” Alistair said, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

* * *

Each room could fit two people, and when Alistair was resigned to sharing a room with Zevran, he was none too thrilled. Not that he had much of a choice unfortunately, for Morrigan refused to share one with either of them, and instead went with Sten. And Shale? No one knew where the golem was exactly, for they couldn't fit through the front door in the first place, but they were _somewhere_ in the city. Carmen sent a silent prayer to the pigeons. With the building being a lot calmer now that it was well over nightfall, she was able to let her mind settle. The usual noise of a rowdy tavern had mellowed out into the distant scrattles of drunk footsteps a floor below, and the clinking of beer bottles being moved around. The band that played during the day had turned in as well, and all but the sound of a hurdy-gurdy remained, the final encore for the night. 

Carmen entered her room first and dropped her pack near the bed, all but collapsing onto the comfortable surface with a happy sigh. It had been months since she had slept on anything that wasn’t a bedroll, and her muscles were immediately delighted at the pleasant change. Blue was already fast asleep at the end of the bed. The sight of her sleeping companion had her doze off a bit, but the sound of a door opening minutes later caused her to shoot straight up while her hands went for the nearest weapon. 

“Relax, it’s just me.” Leliana closed the door quietly with one hand, while her other held a bag. 

The tension in Carmen’s shoulders loosened and her nerves subsided. She rubbed one of her eyes, holding back a yawn. “Hmm...just you.”

“It dawned on me that you haven’t had dinner yet, so I brought you something.” Leliana pulled the contents out of the bag and onto a wooden tray. 

Surprise flitted across Carmen’s eyes, but in minutes, she had devoured a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheddar cheese, and several eggrolls in one sitting like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

“Alistair wasn’t lying about the Grey Warden appetite,” Leliana remarked with humour. 

But the abnormal hunger had become more of an irritant. Carmen scowled when her stomach persisted in growling as if a spoiled beast was living rent-free in there. “I go _one_ day without breakfast and I starve. It’s ridiculous, honestly.” She exhaled sharply.

A full laugh escaped the bard this time, and Carmen wasn’t sure at first what was so funny about having the unstable appetite of a growing adolescent, but Leliana’s laughter was damn near infectious, and her resolve broke with a chortle. Shaking her head with a stupid grin she just _knew_ was plastered on her face, Carmen put away her finished plate and reached for her hair-band so she could fix the tangles on her head.

Carmen grunted. “Yes, laugh at my misery. You’re so cruel,” she jested with faux-anger, as she brushed her hair with her fingers. A poor substitute for a proper comb. 

There was a shuffling sound from her side when Leliana scooted closer, a playful but shy gleam in her eyes. “I...” She chewed the bottom of her lip. “Have I ever told you how much I like your hair? It’s very pretty.”

Carmen paused. ”My...m-my _hair?”_ It came out in stutters, and she cursed herself for being caught off guard, before looking at Leliana like she had one too many drinks. Carmen absentmindedly reached for her loose strands, and she must’ve made a face of displeasure at the mess that was her hair, because Leliana had to stifle a giggle. She then regarded her with wariness and pouted. “You’re making fun of me.”

But no, Leliana insisted otherwise. “No, really! You wear it nicely. It’s simple, unlike the elaborate hairstyles worn in Orlais.” She smiled at a memory. “I remember one noblewoman, Lady Elise, who actually wore _live birds_ in her hair.”

She chuckled when Carmen shot her an incredulous look. 

“I swear, I’m not making this up!” Leliana raised her hands. “Oh, she tried so hard to outdo everyone else, because flowers and ribbons just wasn’t enough, all the while forgetting that terrified little birdies have... _loose bowels._ ”

It must’ve been the way Leliana said it, the mental image, or the dead-serious look and waggling eyebrows that accompanied those words, because not a second later, Carmen snorted, _actually_ _snorted_. Loud enough that Blue’s ears shot up at the sound. She covered her mouth and nose with the back of her hand, wondering if she could look the fool more. It wasn’t even that funny, Maker’s sake. But it had been a long day, and the offered levity was like a bottle of ice-cold ale after hard labour in the sun. 

“Ugh, forgive me.” Leliana rubbed her head. “I was trying to say something nice, but I always end up going off on a tangent. You're just so easy to talk to, you know? Like I can say anything and you wouldn't...” She trailed off with a breathy laugh and looked away.

“No, no, it's fine. Please don't stop on my account.” In fact, Carmen loved it when Leliana rambled. It was oddly endearing, in a way. Though, she would never admit that to her, even if there was a knife to her throat. 

Leliana watched her struggle with the band and asked, “May I...would you allow me to braid it for you?” Her words were laced with hope. “Just for tonight, at least,” she added. 

“Uh...” Her words were suddenly stuck in her throat. Oh, if she could see herself now, she probably captured that 'deer caught under a hunter's gaze' look better than anyone. Carmen could stick a blade into a man’s chest and mount the heads of darkspawn on her spear like it was doing a chore, but nothing in all her years prepared her for compliments from a lady, much less _this!_

Leliana must’ve picked up on her hesitation. “I have a comb.”

“Hmm.”

“I’ll be gentle,” she promised.

“Fine.”

Grabbing her comb with giddy excitement, Leliana climbed onto the bed and sat behind her. She started with brushing from the roots down, eliminating any of the tangles. Carmen waited for the small sting of pain that usually came whenever she brushed her own hair. She anticipated in dread for the comments to the scar by her ear. But Leliana was true to her word, and with the deft fingers running through her hair, Carmen relaxed to the touch, the first time she relaxed that night in fact. It was slow and pleasant, the repetitive movements lulling her until her eyes started to droop. Leliana must’ve sensed her drifting off, because she then offered to tell her a story to fill the silence. 

Carmen blinked to stay awake. “Another happy fairytale?”

“Not quite,” she said vaguely. 

“Now you’ve got me curious.”

As Leliana gathered the strips of her white locks, she began by introducing the main character and scene. “There was a lamb who lived on a farm in the Hinterlands, still but a babe with his mother. There they resided, blissfully unbothered by anything beyond the pasture.”

She slowly but surely began to overlap and twist her hair into a braid. “But one night, a wolf shrouded in darkness attacked. The lamb’s mother shielded her son, but sadly, the wolf killed her. With his hunger satiated, the wolf retreated back to his den, while a lamb wept for its dead mother.”

Just another night at the sheep pen,” Carmen said grimly. Where was the shepherd when they were needed most?

“Indeed. But the lamb made a decision that night,” Leliana said. “He went after his killer. But he did not track down the wolf with the intent to kill him then. Instead, he begged the wolf to make him his apprentice. ‘It’s _exhausting_ ,’ cried the lamb. ‘Living my whole life in a place I was too scared to leave, helplessly waiting to be murdered for doing nothing. I’ve had enough!’. To his surprise, the wolf was moved by the words, and agreed to train him as if the lamb was one of his own.”

Ignoring the implausibility of such a tale, Carmen listened on, far too engrossed to interrupt. 

“Three summers later, the remnants of the once innocent lamb was replaced by a full-grown black ram, with a bloodlust no different from a predator’s. His body was scarred, and his horns had sprouted outwards, resembling more of a demon’s than any animal’s. One stormy night, in a final test, his master declared that they would raid the very pasture the ram was born in. The sheep were easily cornered into the barn. But in an act they both saw coming, he betrayed the wolf, impaling him.” 

Leliana grabbed the hair-band and fastened the end of Carmen’s braid to hold it together. “With his mother’s killer finally dead, the ram turned to face the herd that was his former family. However, as he approached the barn, there was no welcoming embrace. All he was greeted with were terrified faces. His appearance was unearthly to them. A mother threw herself over her lamb at his approach, much like his own did all those years ago. No longer did they recognize him as kin. No longer did they see him as one of their own.”

Her braid rested on her shoulder, finished. Leliana’s voice became low. “When the ram insisted he lived there once, none believed him. For how could the terrifying beast he became once come from such a docile place as that pen? Stricken with heartbreak and rejection, the ram left to aimlessly wander the plains, his soul lost and without a home to return to.”

“The irony was that in the end, the ram admitted to himself — he had grown to love the wolf, and saw him as the father he never had.” 

“He understood him,” Carmen murmured.

“He did.” 

If Carmen crafted the story herself, she would’ve said it was too heavy-handed. But one had to wonder the wolf’s motivation in all of that. Perhaps the wolf was going against its nature, much like the lamb did. If one was a predator whose purpose in life was to forever play out nature's role until death, who _wouldn't_ go mad? The wolf was tired of it as much as the lamb was tired of being the waiting prey. During night watches at camp, Carmen would talk to Alistair about these sorts of things, and he had listened like he always had. But she suspected he didn’t understand, not really, and she always felt the strange one for talking about these things with him.

Leliana brushed a strand away from her own face. “I know it’s not a tale I usually tell, but it was one that always stuck with me.”

And that was when Carmen started to wonder if Morrigan got her all wrong. That _she_ got Leliana all wrong. She had yet to hear a tale from the bard about Chasind Wilders, poisonous swamp dwelling creatures, or any of the horrific fables the witch of the wilds knew. But the stories Leliana knew were no children's tales either. They had their own language to them. 

“I...I needed that,” she said softly with a nod, “more than you think.” Because there was some stories you just had to hear, and that was all there was to it.

Carmen swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a barely adequate enough expression of gratitude, and she only felt silly now, but Leliana just smiled in response, because she was _Leliana_ and that woman knew more than she let on. The Warden examined the braid done for her with a satisfied look, pleased with the result. As the moon hung low like a white scythe amidst an ocean of stars that illuminated through the window, she began to drift off, and _‘de rien’_ was the last thing that graced her ears, the foreign words barely a whisper.

That night, Carmentine Tabris fell asleep to the counting of sheep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, been busy the past few weeks. Thanks for reading!  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	25. City of Dreams, City of Dogs

“See that man over there? Not Fereldan.”

Carmen blinked and looked at the subject of interest, trying to see what Zevran was seeing differently. “How can you tell?”

“The flowers,” he said.

 _Well that just about explained everything_. Indeed, from across their table a small distance away, the stranger had a small bouquet in his hand and was making his way through the tavern just like any other regular patron. But she must've been missing some sort of clue because there didn’t seem to be anything noteworthy about an object as unremarkable as a bundle of plants that could distinguish something as obscure as his ethnicity. 

Zevran continued, “Most Fereldans hold it so that the flowers remain upright. Notice the way he’s holding it. The stock held in reverse-grip, the heads of the flowers facing down—that is how they hold it in Rivain.”

Impressed by the man’s attention to detail, Carmen poured him another one. “So,” she drawled, “you’re not just here to look pretty after all.”

“Of course, you’ll never be disappointed.” Zevran took the drink graciously with a smile and a toast. “I can pick locks, disarm traps, avert unwanted attention, even drink poison for you, among other things.”

“Wait, can you really do that?” Wynne asked disbelievingly. “Drink poison and survive?”

“Yes. Being resilient to your own weapons is part of being an assassin.”

“Well that's not concerning at all.”

If he kept this up, he could even be trusted with the cooking, eventually. Carmen bit back a laugh at that. _Oh, who am I kidding?_ She suspected she might’ve been dropped on the head as a child, but fortunately, her naivety died just as long ago. Now there was just confirmation that they'd never be able to tell if his cooking was poisoned or not, even if they forced him to take the first bite. Lovely, that. 

“Speaking of unwanted attention, I’ve been thinking,” Alistair said.

“Such a rare occurrence is surely worth a listen,” Morrigan quipped without looking up from her grimoire.

Doing his best not to look vexed, Alistair continued. “What if there’s Antivan Crows here in Denerim?” he asked warily, his voice quieting to a hush.

“Oh,” Zevran said with a sip before speaking flippantly, “there’s no doubt about that.”

Alistair stared at him bemusedly for a moment. “And you didn’t think this was worth mentioning before?” 

“Assassins don’t take each other’s contracts. At least most assassin guilds,” Leliana tried to assure him. “The mark on our two Wardens was already taken by Zevran.”

“And assuming they believe I'm only traveling with you to bide my time, they will not bother us,” Zevran said confidently. “Besides, only I was foolish enough to take on Grey Wardens.” 

That was the general consensus, wasn’t it? Whoever went against a Warden was either someone who had a death wish, or just a fool too big for his britches. At least, that was what the older folks used to say. These days, Carmen wasn’t so sure anymore. They all made the Wardens out to be this legendary faction of warriors, heroes forged into steel from the hottest fires. Now look at ‘em. Reduced to two, and rookies no less. It was times like these when she pondered on how much better they would be faring if Duncan, or virtually any veteran Warden, survived and was leading the helm of this party. 

Carmen leaned back against her chair, softly sighing. “I’m no stranger to havin’ a bounty on my head, but assassins? That it was Loghain that gave the order is just extra salt on the wound.” Being disappointed by a man you had looked up to your entire life was always a kick in the teeth, and she wondered if she could ever look up to someone again. 

Alistair took a swig of his ale, smiling into his drink. “He finds us repulsive.”

“I find us repulsive,” she muttered back half-heartedly, slowly rubbing Blue’s head on her lap, as she stared into her own beverage with a dejected, thousand-yard stare. 

“No desire to ask for an appeal then, I wager?” Zevran chuckled.

”What are we gonna do, tell Loghain it wasn’t our fault the king pulled an oopsie?” Carmen let out a harsh ‘ha!’. “Oh sure! We’ll tell him it’s all just one big misunderstandin’, and afterwards, we can all laugh about it over drinks.”

“Oh we’re way past the stage of talking. I fully intend to make Loghain pay,” Alistair said with a dark look.

“And there will be plenty of time for that in the future, my friend,” Zevran promised brightly. “But as it stands, our Wardens must be fed. Breakfast?”

Carmen grinned, her mouth already watering. “ _Oh yeah._ I got a _real_ appetite.”

“You’re always hungry,” Leliana pointed out from behind her coffee with a snicker.

“Hey, us Grey Wardens need to eat if we are to battle darkspawn,” Alistair protested, already joyfully stuffing biscuits into his mouth, all while crumbs bounced everywhere on the table. 

Letting her eyes leave her reading for the first time they sat down, Morrigan looked at him with a grimace. “You know, 'tis really not gentlemanly to talk with your mouth full.”

Alistair nonchalantly put another biscuit into his mouth as he spoke. “Well, have you ever thought of me as a gentleman?”

Morrigan paused, tilting her head with pursed lips. “Good point.”

They broke the fast while they discussed their plans for the day. A stop by Genitivi’s residence was on the list, and fortunately, they had his address. That would surely save them a lot of time. Though it was a gamble if this Genitivi actually had a location on the Urn of Sacred Ashes, or if his studies were just the mad ravings of an aspiring archaeologist who had stumbled upon the find of the age. That he was a known Chantry scholar as well was not reassuring. Those folks would do anything to raise the Chantry a peg, with no intentions of viewing the world with an unbiased lens, and the ashes of the lady herself would just be one more thing those smug bastards could horde. Ah, no matter. They were here for one thing, Carmen had to remind herself. A cure for Arl Eamon’s sickness, nothing else. 

_Wait a minute._

A sickness. The Urn of Sacred Ashes was known to cure any sickness, if the legends were to be true. Carmen slowly put her fork back down on her plate and stopped for a minute. If the Grey Warden taint was a slow poison that decayed the body and mind over the years, could the ashes...? _No._ It was too foolish to dream, to have hope. But the notion troubled her nonetheless, even as she furiously tried to wipe it from her mind. Surely, she couldn’t be the only one who was thinking about that, and that it must’ve crossed Alistair’s mind as well at some point? 

Carmen frowned and poured the rest of her whiskey down her throat, letting the burn ground her back to the present. Enough of that nonsense. She was getting ahead of herself. Chances were the ashes were just a myth like she always believed they were, but she kept herself from voicing such cynicism aloud lest what little morale the party still had was ruined. It would do them no good. So lost in her internal thoughts Carmen was, that she almost didn’t hear that someone was speaking to her. 

“Warden, if I may, but how are you?” Wynne asked ever cautiously. 

Leliana gave the mage an uncertain look, but Carmen merely fiddled with her food casually. “I’m ready to head out whenever we’re done here and find this Genitivi, see if he can point us in the right direction.” 

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I asked,” she said lightly. “I asked _how you are._ I know the past few days for you have been...”

“I’ll live,” she said curtly. Carmen knew the woman meant well, but wished she'd just stop worrying about her so. “Your concern is appreciated, but I’ve been through worse scraps.” Shaking her head slightly in frustration, she poured another drink for herself. “Should’a kept me trap shut, I’m no Warden-Commander, but here we are anyhow. So you lot just follow me and we’ll all be home in time for tea?” Carmen exhaled a breath, mentally praying today would be a better day. “Yeah...no worries,” she said glibly. 

”You are a Grey Warden. Yet you know so little of your order,” Sten said from across the table. “Your role is an enigmatic contradiction. Even now, your existence confuses me.”

Carmen folded her arms in her seat, more amused than offended at the man’s final confession. “Can’t say I blame ya.”

“You do not know yourself,” he continued. “It was cruel of your people to leave you this way. The Tamassrans see to it that all Qunari know themselves.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And you are fine with others dictating what you should be?”

With a wistfulness in his voice that she hadn't come to expect, he replied, “There is...something in knowing exactly where you belong.”

The words made her think for a bit. Carmen was aware that Sten stemmed from a different culture, and that the way things worked in Southern Thedas was alien to the Qunari entirely. The Qun was very much against the ‘chaos’ of the world outside of Seheron. Their teachings were so opposite to that of the Chantry’s, both were equally repulsed by each other’s way of life, yet both ways of life seemed to work somehow. Neither were without faults, of course, but to be born and bred to be one thing for the rest of your life was an intriguing thought. At least with that, you had a place in civilization and you knew what you were going to be in life. You would be trained to be one thing and master that purpose. There was a sweet sense of stability in that. Not that she'd ever submit, but survival and spite was all she had to keep her going. Take that away and what would she be? Just another gruff sword for hire who stumbled through life blindfolded. Carmen didn’t know a knick about who she was supposed to be, and that was suffocating. 

“I won’t deny the appeal.” 

* * *

These streets had a certain taste and texture to her, crisp and loud as the ravenous growls of Dobermans permeated the gates, their saliva-ridden teeth grinding against the metal bars as the chains clinked and rattled. Carmen remembered sneaking out to the docks at night, the thrill of thievery as she sprinted away from the marketplace with a pouch of gold that would feed her family that night. She remembered the flaking cherry-red paint on the trunk of the Vhenadahl where splinters bit into her fingers, the choking smoke coming out of the chimneys, the zig-zagging ginnels outside the noble’s estate in the upper district, and eyeing the countess in expensive corsets as she stepped out of her carriage, thinking ‘ _Damn, now that's a bonny lass_ ’. Sometimes a certain smell would take her back to when she was young, then it’d be gone in an instant, utterly untraceable.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to all...this,” Morrigan sniffed with a wave of her hand, regarding Denerim with contempt. 

Of course, Denerim was an acquired taste. The witch had expressed her discomfort many times about the confines of civilization and this one was no different. It must’ve been more overwhelming for her, as it was the most densely populated city in Ferelden. A farcry from the swamp she lived in her whole life, with the closest thing to a settlement being the tribes of the local Chasind. Ever since their arrival, Morrigan had been more on edge than her usual self, preferring to stay in bird form whenever she could. It provided her the feeling of freedom she needed temporarily. The times she did stay in human form meant she was extra prickly around the others, especially with Alistair. She didn't even laugh at any of his jokes this week. Well, to be fair, Morrigan wouldn't laugh at any of Alistair's jokes on a _good_ day either _._

“We won’t be staying here much longer,” Carmen promised. “Don’t like the idea of lingerin’ anymore either.” She couldn’t stop herself from periodically glancing at the alienage in the distance, like it was taunting her, daring her to do something reckless. She needed to get away from here, because the longer she stayed, the more maddening it had become, and the less likely she would be able to control herself. Restlessness from helplessness blues would be her greatest bane, and Carmen hungered for a fight that would tire her ‘til she was spent for the day. 

Morrigan followed her gaze and was quick to see where her mind was going. “‘Tis obvious what ails you. But act on your feelings now and you forfeit your life.”

As always, Morrigan was a woman of few words, but the bluntest in her approach. She never sugar-coated things, and that was what Carmen liked about her. She was like an ice-cold splash of water on your face, not out of cruelty, but as a wake-up call. She appreciated that from time to time. It kept her on her toes and grounded her to logic and reason when all else failed. But at times, Carmen wanted to be selfish, even if Morrigan was right. Oh, to be a carefree and oblivious mabari like Blue, untroubled by the struggles of mankind, with the only worries being whether or not he was a good boy and if he was getting belly rubs today. A dog’s life was a simple one. 

“I know, but even still, I’m almost tempted to scale those walls at night.” 

“And risk getting apprehended by the guards? Don’t be stupid.” 

“I’d risk anything for family,” Carmen admitted. She bit the bottom of her lips with a lour, grunting. “I am losing my mind.”

“The whole city finds out who you are, and you'll lose a lot more than that.” Morrigan shook her head ruefully, looking her seriously in the eyes. “Leave your love and longing behind if you wish to survive.” With that, she transformed and flew off ahead of them. 

Watching her go, she let out a regretful breath. When would it ever be about more than just survival? Carmen had always prided herself as someone who was in control of her own emotions. It took a lot to make her unhinged, but she was so unbelievably tired. Someone said something to her the other day, and she wanted to be laid to rest. Another bloke looked at her the wrong way at the tavern, and she wanted to grab him by his hair and push his face down the stove. The dog bit back at the hand that hit it and killed its master. Now it wandered free, waiting for someone to eventually put it down. Because being out for blood was an exhausting state of mind. She wanted justice and she wanted it now.

 _So go ahead_ , the demon on her shoulder would often say, _take some heads._ But she couldn’t. She would give the shem no more firepower to use against her people.

However, the Maker had other plans, with the sole intent on continuing to test and prod her limits until she was ready to snap. A man who appeared to be a knight walked up to them with two other compatriots, their faces clearly painted with harsh intent. Carmen had to summon enough willpower to not retreat from the confrontation. 

“You,” he said firmly, “I know who you are, _Warden_. I saw your face at Ostagar and I know you renegades killed King Cailan.”

_Wonderful._

“We don’t want any trouble,” Alistair said for what seemed to be the third time since they’ve arrived at Denerim. She lost count. 

“There’s no use worming your way out of this one, traitors,” the man spat. “Showing your face here, walkin’ the streets like you own the place...you got quite the nerve, Warden, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah and you could use some,” she replied.

“And a loud mouth too.” He looked her up and down with a judgemental gaze. “Injustice has gone on long enough.”

“Oh, I agree.”

The knight’s hand was already on the hilt of his sword, and the other two men stepped closer, their armour creaking at the motion. Interesting choice, but not very subtle. They were in broad daylight, after all. _The blitherin’ tool thinks he’s hot shit._

He raised his voice. “I demand satisfaction!”

Camen waved her hand impatiently. “Then head to the nearest brothel,” she shot back. 

The only response she got was an even deeper scowl from the man, if that was even possible. Yet another one of Loghain's lapdogs, as rampant as ever. It was foolish to think they'd be able to avoid them in Denerim. Thus far, they’d all been knights with sticks up their arses, believing every word that came out of their commander like the mindless drones they were. People who thought for themselves had become an ever dying breed these days. As much as she wanted to sock the man, the last thing they needed was another fight that escalated to murder. _Remember self-control?_ Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose. 

She suspected the only reason they hadn’t attacked her and Alistair outright from the get-go was the presence of her companions. That they chose to confront them now was telling of their impatience. Guess they gave up waiting for them to be alone and jump them in one of the alleyways. It was the same old formulaic dance she had seen a hundred times growing up on these streets, and she was not in the mood for another trip down memory lane. 

“Listen bub, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. Don’t be a barmpot and use your wits for a second...if you’ve got any,” Carmen said off-handedly, before continuing. “What would killing the king have served other than give the darkspawn the upper hand? Let me ask you this, just what do you think a Warden does as a profession?”

He paused to think for a moment. “Kill darkspawn?”

“Terrific. There’s some brains in that noggin’ of yours after all, contrary to initial impressions,” she replied sardonically. Carmen clasped her hands together, growing serious. “So the next time you talk shit, make sure your head isn’t full of it. Wardens don’t kill kings, and they _certainly_ don’t help darkspawn.”

Before the man could go on with his indignant charade 'til he was red in the face, it was at that moment when their friendly neighbourhood golem decided to show up. 

“Ah, there it is,” Shale said. “And here I thought it’s forgotten me.”

All three men looked up at the towering stump of rock and crystals with wide eyes, back and forth between her. She almost chortled at the scene before her.

“Err...you _may_ be right,” the knight said carefully, his threatening demeanour from before completely vanished. It was remarkable how quickly someone’s tone could change at the sight of something that could make them shit bricks. He and his friends quickly high-tailed it out of their way. 

Alistair cupped his hands around his mouth. “Go find a skirt to hide under!” he shouted after them.

Carmen scoffed. “Bloody cocksuckers,” she muttered with a snigger. Finally, she turned to Shale. “You, have exquisite timing.” A golem that arrived in the knick of time, leaving a trail of dead avians behind in their wake, was a pretty picture to behold.

They arrived at Genitivi’s house that afternoon with little trouble. She didn’t know why she was expecting a mansion. It was such an unassuming looking residence, like it was any other house on the street, that they almost thought they stopped at the wrong one at first. When they inquired for Brother Genitivi, however, the door was instead opened by his assistant, Weylon. Claimed to be watching over his research, and that Genitivi had not returned in weeks. No letters were sent back, curiously enough.

They were allowed to read some of Genitivi’s works left out in the open bookshelves, but none of them seemed to point to a location or where the man may’ve potentially gone. Weylon was of no help in that department either, even after their repeated attempts at getting any sort of lead out of him. He seemed insistent on dissuading them from pursuing Genitivi altogether, stressing how dangerous the endeavour was, and that he didn’t want any more people going missing because of him. Carmen was starting to get the feeling that this would be a dead-end. 

But something in the house reeked. Something that told her they shouldn’t leave just yet. Things only started to get more strange the longer they talked to the assistant, and the more ‘off’ his demeanour had become. He would never stay on one topic, and before they could inquire further, he would always move on to something else. Ten years ago, Carmen might’ve written that off as just someone who was nervous around strangers. Not like she didn’t use to be like that herself, and they weren’t exactly the most unintimidating group, even though they had Shale and Sten guard the front door outside in case those knights of Loghain changed their minds. 

“You seem a little nervous,” Carmen remarked. “You alright, mate?”

“Yes, I’m alright,” he said, voice a little high. “Why wouldn’t I be alright? Now if you really insist on tracking the man down, he told me he would head to Lake Calenhad.”

“Oh, changed your mind about sending folks to Genitivi, have you?”

“Doesn’t seem like I can stop you, even if I tried. Perhaps some things aren’t meant to be found, but it’s your death wish,” he said with a shrug. “His scrolls pointed to a hidden tomb south-east from here.”

“South-east from here is the Brecilian Forest, no? Lake Calenhad is south-west,” Leliana interjected.

Carmen crossed her arms with a suspicious look. Ignoring the possibility that this man was just horrendously bad with his geography, his consistency was simply all over the place. He had the fumbling and amateurish mistakes of an aspiring con man, a common trait amongst many young charlatans starting out their first heist at the market district. There weren't no darkspawn, but her Warden senses were tingling, if that was possible. 

Weylon blinked. “Well...” He trailed off for a second, before picking up where he stopped. “Brother Genitivi might’ve had some business to attend to at Lake Calenhad! He could’ve headed to the forest a-after that trip and...”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Didn’t you also say he _told_ you where he went? But now you’re saying it’s his scrolls that pointed to the location.” Carmen tiredly shook her head with a skeptical look. “You’re a shit liar. Fancy a swift kick in the arse?”

“Now wait a minute! It’s not what you...I was...” Weylon stammered, his eyes wide. Then he looked behind them and pointed fearfully. “D-darkspawn! Behind you!”

Carmen all but glared at him. _Is this cretin insulting me?_ None of her companions made a move to turn around either, and they all looked equally unimpressed. 

She walked closer, ignoring his attempts at evading. “There are no darkspawn behind me,” she said firmly. “I would've sensed or heard them. Just like how I can hear the pace of your breath now, quickening by the second.” Carmen leaned in until their faces were inches apart, with a low growl accompanying her next words. "Hmm, wha’s that smell? Must be all the bullshit.”

“No! You will not find the ashes!” Weylon cried. 

At this point, Carmen knew he was done talking and that he would attack. She expected a concealed dagger, or for him to reach for a sword mounted on a wall. But in an act that caught her completely off guard, an electrical spell in his hand was being conjured into a sizable sphere. She didn’t even have time to bring up her shield to potentially deflect the magic, but a spell of that size could kill everyone in one explosion and set the entire residence on fire. They could not afford to draw that kind of attention. So in a split-second decision, Carmen did what any reasonable person ought to do when faced with a very angry mage.

She lunged at him. 

Hands stretched outwards, Carmen tackled him to the ground before the spell could be sent flying, and with his focus interrupted, the lightning bolt went off in a self-contained discharge between her and Weylon. She had to bite down on her teeth to keep from screaming out, as the electricity locked her muscles tightly, like mechanical wheels that were abruptly jammed. One moment she was wrestling him on top, the next; he had somehow flipped her over and the glow of another spell from above threatened to melt her face to the wooden floor. 

But before she could feel the sting of flames, an arrow pierced Weylon’s throat straight from behind. Blood gurgled from his mouth before he dropped limply on the ground. Sitting up with a wince, she saw Leliana lower her bow carefully. Carmen gave her a nod in thanks, and she returned it resolutely, while the others sheathed their weapons. They were lucky none of the spells caused enough ruckus to attract the presence of templars, and Wynne was quick to scold her for that being her biggest concern, despite Carmen’s objections that she was fine. 

“I don't know how that didn't kill you. You took in over a thousand bolts of electricity into your body. Do not tell me you are ‘fine’,” Wynne scolded, while her healing spell washed over her. “One of these days, you’re going to land on something just as stubborn as you are.”

Carmen stretched her shoulders around to test the state of her muscles. “I’m counting on it,” she said.

The woman didn’t even seem all that surprised by her wild antics anymore. Throwing herself at someone that was the equivalent of a volatile bomb about to go off wasn’t exactly a mindset that screamed self-preservation, but they all expected nothing less of her at this stage. _Good,_ she thought. They could reprimand her all they wanted, but as long as the job got done, she didn’t care about the rest. 

“You can be really scary sometimes, you know that?” Alistair commented.

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

“So you should!” Zevran said. ”Having a sexy death goddess lunge at you for the kill? Thrilling. I could think of no better way to go.”

“Must you reduce everything to lechery?” Morrigan hissed, before turning away from his shameless expression. “If only the bard left the man alive. He could’ve been interrogated afterwards with more force.” 

Leliana flashed her a scowl. “He was seconds away from killing the Warden,” she countered.

But Morrigan looked bored. “It seems your aim isn’t so true after all.” 

“The crazy son of a bitch was willing to set off an explosion, taking him along with it,” Carmen said with a wince as she got up. “Doubt he would’ve talked.”

“Hmm, perhaps.” The witch rubbed her garment of any dust like a peacock upset that it dirtied its feathers. “If his intelligence dropped any lower, we’d have to water him twice a week.” 

Carmen snorted. ”I reckon I’d’ve been able to hit him in the head enough times to give him a muckin’ lobotomy. He’d comply then,” she joked.

“The templars will be jealous,” Morrigan warned with an amused smirk.

They searched Weylon’s body but found nothing. _Blast!_ They would need to hide the body before leaving. Anyone got wind of this and their bounty would go up even more, not that it wasn’t already the biggest bounty in the entire nation. She was almost tempted to see just how high it could go though, but suspected none of her companions would appreciate that. Carmen remembered seeing a well near the far reaches of the Chantry building. That would have to do.

It wasn’t until Blue’s nose led them to the entrance to a back room kept hidden by a cabinet, did she realize that they would have to hide not just one body, but two _._ Even with a blanket over the corpse, the smell of decay and rot was already strong. That explained the reek she picked up on before. 

“Well, at least now we know what happened to the real Weylon,” she said grimly.

Alistair carefully avoided stepping on the body. “Poor sod.”

Why an imposter would do this and lead the people searching for the ashes astray was anyone’s guess, but this could only be a prelude as to the kind of people Genitivi would’ve met on his path during his search. The imposter’s words haunted her. ‘ _Perhaps some things aren’t meant to be found, but it’s your death wish_ ’. The implications turned out to be more literal than expected, and the more they uncovered these skeletons in their closet, the more unnerved Carmen grew. Just who were these people? Whatever happened to Redcliffe’s knights, she had her answer now. They were sent to Lake Calenhad, and never came back. 

On the other side of the room where the shelves resided looked to be more of Genitivi’s works. Several of the papers sprawled over the work tables consisted of maps, wrapped scrolls, books as thick as barrels, and an open journal. It must’ve been a life’s work of material here for them to dissect. 

Zevran blew a whistle. “This Genitivi fellow wasn’t fooling around.”

They all looked around in wonder and studied the ancient texts, trying to find some sort of clue, anything at all. Carmen grabbed Genitivi’s journal and flipped through its pages. Many of them were notes on the history of Andraste, the march against the Tevinter Imperium, and a few pages contained ink drawings of archaic-looking temples and artifacts. On one page with a folded corner, Carmen came closer to her search. There it was in bold — ‘Urn of Sacred Ashes’. 

She read the text below for all of them to hear. “‘The bones of the world stretched towards the sky's embrace. Veiled in white, like a bride greeting her groom. A place where Andraste could gaze into her Maker’s sky. No more fitting a tomb than this we could find’.” 

Alistair scratched his head. “Sorry, you lost me at 'The'.”

“Bones of the world...her Maker’s sky...” Leliana thought out loud. She glanced at the maps on the walls intently, the parchments riddled with black markings, lines, and small text. Suddenly, she gasped. “Maker, that’s it. The temple of sacred ashes!”

Feigning comprehension, Carmen’s eyes widened as she let out a gasp of her own. “Andraste's tits. _The temple of sacred ashes?_ ” She leaned back and looked at the bard disbelievingly, her hands held up in surprise. “No bloody way.”

Leliana huffed. “You have no idea what that is, do you?” she asked dryly.

Carmen clicked her tongue with the barest hint of a smirk. “Not the foggiest.”

“Andraste’s final resting place,” Leliana explained slowly. When met with continued empty stares, she continued. “Her body was burned in Tevinter, but her disciples carried her ashes back to Ferelden. They must've erected a temple of sorts; a tomb, if you will. The Chantry doesn’t know of her last pilgrims, their names were lost in time. But all of this...” She waved at the map that had markers dotted somewhere north-west of Ferelden. “...It points to one location. The bones of the world that reach out towards the Maker’s sky.”

“The Frostback Mountains,” Alistair answered, finally understanding. 

How Andraste's disciples managed to build a tomb on a mountaintop without them all freezing to death was beyond her. It would've been easier to just spread her ashes off the highest peak, recite a few prayers maybe, and toss in a poetic speech or something. Though, the hilarious image of them chucking their lady’s remains straight off a cliff did cross Carmen's mind. But there had to be some sort of mistake with Genitivi's research here, perhaps a transcript that didn't translate quite right. There was nothing in the Frostback Mountains but endless kilometres of ice and snow. It was near inhabitable, and with the snowstorms, that would make it a pain to set up camp there. Carmen wasn't the only one who had the same thought.

“Now hold your horses. What if there’s the off-chance that the ashes _aren’t_ real?” Morrigan inquired, ever the dubious member of the party. “We’re looking at traveling to some uncharted land with ungodly temperatures, all for a lost relic that may yet be nothing more than legends.” 

“The ashes _are_ real, and we’ll find them,” Leliana insisted with newfound determination. 

Morrigan rolled her eyes. “You know, as much as I adore that giddy optimism, we need something more tangible than fabled tales and superstitious riddles engrained in religion.”

Wynne analyzed the vellum that contained the drawings and text with furrowed brows. “Hang on, there’s more. Someone’s name here looks like it’s written in...ancient Alamarri, I believe?” 

They huddled closer and inspected the odd string of runes and symbols with mixed expressions.

Morrigan squinted, before understanding dawned on her face. “That’s not the name of a someone, that’s the name of a some _place._ ” She pointed to the words barely translated by Genitivi. “It spells...Haven.” The place was unfamiliar to the witch, however. 

“There’s a village in the mountains?” Alistair exclaimed with bewilderment. “It’s not even on our map!”

“Not most maps, no. But look at this.” Carmen traced her fingers across Genitivi’s pile of papers. “He’s got scrolls on every expedition to Haven, dating all the way back to the Towers Age!” She skimmed through what words she could make out, not long before her blood turned cold. “'Every adventurer who journeyed to Haven was never seen again. Not a letter, nor a remnant of their bodies. And their tracks long since enveloped by the snow'. Sounds familiar, don't it?”

Alistair shuddered. “Ominous.” 

“Well then...” Carmen put the parchments back down and let out a long exhale. “At least we know where to go next.” She stored Genitivi’s journal into her pouch, in case they needed to refer back to it later.

“If we are to journey to the Frostback Mountains, might I suggest we acquire the appropriate wear?” Zevran chimed in.

“Stronger tents are also probably advised,” Wynne added.

Carmen nodded. “We can stop by at a couple of shops. Should have enough coin, but if not, that’s not something a few jobs on the Chanter’s Board can’t fix.”

Morrigan rubbed her forehead like there was a growing headache, which was probably not that far from the truth. “Ah, so we have regressed to chasing shadows on forgotten mountaintops, where we can freeze to death while digging for the bones of a madwoman. Lovely.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” 

Alistair had to suppress a groan at Carmen. “You know, I hate it when you say that.”

* * *

After several more hours of earning coin and getting the necessary supplies, they were ready to be off. A few were disappointed they couldn’t stay one more night at the Herald’s Rest, because that would be the last place they’d be able to sleep on comfortable beds in what would be a long while. It was back to bedrolls and tents again. But Carmen, as well as Morrigan, couldn’t stand a day longer in that city. Carmen more so than the witch. One could boil it down to paranoia, but it was as if she was constantly being watched. She felt a lot better after acquiring cloaks that managed to cover her and Alistair’s chest plates, thus hiding their Grey Warden emblems.

Now they were on their way to the other side of Ferelden, a camp set up not far from South Reach. Deciding to save up on the food they purchased that could last longer, Leliana volunteered to hunt simple game for tonight’s dinner. There was only so much storage space and time before the mages’ ice spells wore off in the containers. Not far from their camp, Carmen found the woman on the trail of a small animal. 

Leliana took a deep breath and spoke a prayer. “Maker, guide my bow. I pray to you...that Carmen doesn't scare away all the animals with her _loud footsteps_.”

She blinked in surprise. “And here I thought I was being sneaky.”

“Sneaking up on a bard?” Leliana let out an incredulous sound at the ridiculous notion. “Ante up, my dear Warden.”

Carmen had to smother a grin. One of these days, she would manage to catch her off-guard. It would be difficult, but not impossible. “Soooo, I’m your _elven servant_ , huh?” she asked in mock anger. She couldn’t help herself from bringing that up, it was much too delightful to pass up. “You’re not going to command me to do stuff now, are you?”

“I don’t know,” Leliana said casually. “What if I asked nicely?” The woman mustered a pleading look while she batted her eyelashes innocently.

Carmen pulled an uncertain pout, and made a noise that resembled the sound of a disgruntled druffalo. _Oh, fine._ “For you, I might make an exception.”

“I shall keep that generous offer in mind,” she replied with a bow.

“Well don’t get too comfortable, miss sunshine.”

“Why, never!” Leliana vowed with a hand on her chest, before letting out a stream of gleeful giggles. 

_Ugh, roguish girl._

“Meet me later tonight? Got something for you.”

That managed to peak the bard’s interest. “Oh? What is it?”

Clearing her throat, Carmen slowly backed away. "You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" she said vaguely. It was the smallest hint of a tease, and she didn’t miss the subtle look of impatience from Leliana, as well as the little wrinkle of her nose that was absolutely adorable. “See you in a bit. I'm gonna head back to camp.” 

“Carmen?”

“Yeah?”

Leliana pulled a mischievous smile, and Carmen knew she just walked into something she couldn't go back from. “Head back to camp,” she commanded smugly.

Carmen groaned dramatically. “Already pulling rank! This elven servant shtick better not become a thing.” Well, it served her right for giving that woman this much power. But she'd allow Leliana the pleasure of ordering her around, just this once.

It wasn't until after dinner did Carmen finally summon the stomach to approach Leliana. She had spent an hour going from certain to hesitant, contemplating on the right things to say. So much so that even Alistair wondered if she was okay when he caught her pacing, before she waved him off and insisted he went to sleep. But with the watch she and Leliana shared tonight, this had to be as good a time as any. 

It was there where they sat under the oak trees and stitched their night together beneath the cool air in comfortable companionship, where she heard the scuttles of rabbits far from camp that were fully aware of the dangers of fennecs that lurked, but uncaring of that fact for just this night. The warm glow of the bonfire dampened her nerves, if only for a few moments enough so that she didn’t abandon her post in cowardice. She was safe here for now, she had to remind herself. Beyond the reach of any darkspawn out here at this hour, and surrounded by strangers that weren't so strange to her anymore, each one of them like a face on a deck of cards. Equal amounts peculiar and familiar. 

Carmen had long since accepted the fact that she was never good at these sorts of things. Relying on people, that was. Such a sour-tasting phrase, yet such a wonderful feeling that left her uncertain, urging her to let go and fall, with the promise that someone would catch her when she landed. It was a luxury Carmen couldn't afford growing up, and she's had plenty of years to reinforce that lesson; Denerim was one tough teacher. It was the only home she ever knew, and it was good enough. It kept her hardened, kept her angry enough to persevere. Now, though, Carmen was in foreign waters, dipping her feet beneath the surface and being pleasantly surprised at how nice the sand underneath the waves felt. Pray that the riptide would not sweep her away.

“You know, I never thanked you,” Carmen began, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I mean, properly thanked you.”

Leliana tilted her head. “For what?”

She hesitated, suddenly unsure, and all the things she practiced in her head blanked out. By the gods, thank her for what, indeed? There was nothing she could say that would properly suffice. _For patching my wounds. For getting me a room to sleep in. For telling me a story. For not turning me away. For saving my life..._

“For...for buying me that drink,” Carmen mustered shyly, and immediately wanted to slap herself. Of all the things she could say she was thankful for, she chose to settle on an insignificant gesture that must’ve been _months_ ago from some obscure village that was nothing but a wasteland now. She supposed it was easier to expose herself as a fumbling buffoon when it came to giving gratitude than it was to bare her heart out. Why did it have to be so difficult? 

With the bard’s confused stare, Carmen elaborated. “Back in Lothering. Or back when it was still Lothering. Got pretty distracted to remember thanking you afterwards. I know it's silly, it was just a drink after all, and yeah I know you only did it ‘cause you wanted to get yourself on me good side, but still. Don’t think I’ve ever had a human do something like that for me before.”

“I bought you that drink,” Leliana said sensually while leaning closer to her, “because I thought you looked a little thirsty.”

Carmen swallowed. _Well then._

Maybe Leliana understood that it really wasn't just about the drink, but decided to play along, for her sake. Maker, it was never just about the drink. It was so much more than that, but Leliana just kept on watching her in the dim shadows of the trees, the cerulean eyes twinkling to a degree that was remarkably alluring. This time, however, their gaze didn’t break away from each other’s like they usually did, and the two came to some kind of silent understanding. ‘I know and it’s okay’ they said without the need for words. 

“I should thank you as well for trusting me. When I was charming my way through the bartender,” Leliana clarified. “I wasn’t serious about any of those things I said to him. About you. I hope you know that.”

It was obvious from the get-go that Leliana didn’t mean any of those things, and that it was all just an act. Carmen was never worried about that for a second. They even joked about it in good nature. But Leliana's sentiment was sweet, and it touched her more than it should. 

“Even now, you somehow manage to surprise me,” Carmen said softly. “Allow me?”

She had wanted to give Leliana something to show her thanks in a way her fumbling tongue couldn't. After having gone back in forth with herself on whether or not this was too much, Carmen took a risk. She pulled out a large, silk bag and gently handed it to Leliana, placing it on her lap. Urging Leliana on to unravel it, the bard sucked in a breath when she finally unveiled the object, before her hands flew over her mouth in astonishment.

The cover revealed a lute — the teardrop-shaped instrument made from fine agathis and mahogany, a rounded back that was smooth to the touch and deep enough to allow for a rich, resonant sound. Leliana slowly traced her fingers over the decorated floral carvings about the soundhole, then to the strings, letting a few notes reverberate through the air. 

“You...where did you-how...?” Leliana began as she held the lute lightly with both hands now, caressing the fretboard reverently. 

Carmen shrugged like it was no big deal, but secretly relieved the gift was well-received. “Saw it at the Wonders of Thedas, couldn't help but think of you. Had a few favours to call in anyway,” she said on the side.

“It's beautiful. I...for me?” Leliana whispered in disbelief.

“No, for Sten,” she replied flatly. _Now there's an image._ Carmen exhaled exasperatedly in amusement and had to resist the urge to tease Leliana too hard. “Yes, _for you._ Don’t see any other lute players ‘round here, do ya silly?” When Leliana's mouth struggled to form a response, Carmen's eyebrows shot up. “A bard at a loss for words! Might not be able to sneak up on one, but I'm countin' this as a personal achievement.” 

That got Leliana to laugh, her eyes shining a bit. She suddenly wrapped her arms around Carmen in an impulsive hug. “No one’s ever given me a gift like this,” she murmured into her shoulder. “Not without it always coming with expectations or strings attached.”

Well, technically the gift literally had strings attached, but she knew what Leliana meant. Carmen pulled back slightly to look at her earnestly. “Hey, you don’t have to worry, I don’t do that. This is just a gift. Nothing less, nothing more.” 

Leliana closed her eyes as she smiled softly. “Thank you,” she breathed, her voice cracking. “That’s so sweet of you.” 

Craning her head up to reach her, Leliana’s lips softly brushed her cheek once, and for a good few seconds, Carmen was pretty sure she forgot how to breathe. 

“Thank you...” Leliana sighed blissfully, and the sweet sound tickled her insides like an unscratchable itch. It nestled contently into Carmen’s chest, like it had every right to be there. 

She was lucky the light of the bonfire was there to conveniently mask the flush of her cheeks, that was certainly redder than Leliana’s hair by now. Carmen could practically _hear_ the blood rushing to the tips of her ears and all the way down to her feet, making her body tingle like she was buzzed from alcohol. No, she corrected herself. This was better than any whiskey Carmen’s ever had, and she didn't even care that she was smiling like an idiot anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for going two weeks without a new chapter, had exams (and more next week ugh). Part three of Denerim is done, and we're going to Haven now. Thank you to everyone sticking with this story.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	26. Dirty Dealings

“So much for the famed reputation of the Crows.” Rendon Howe licked his fingers and flipped through the papers, not bothering to look up to face his speaker.

“What if he's just playing the infiltrator?”

“It's been weeks. I'm not willing to wait and take any chances,” Howe replied dryly. “Now, where were they last seen?” 

“Leaving Denerim two days ago, heading south,” informed the guard. “But there’s more, sire.”

He tilted his head and dipped the feather into the inkpot, waiting expectedly.

“We questioned a witness near the market district. A woman who went by Goldanna revealed to us the name of one of the Wardens.” The guard sucked in a breath. “Alistair.”

Arl Howe cocked a brow, finally raising his head. “Alistair?”

“Alistair Theirin.”

“Impossible.” He almost dropped his quill upon hearing that name, and leaned back against his chair with a grave expression. “You’re certain it was him?”

The man nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

He frowned with concern. This certainly complicated things. Howe had been privy to the rumours of King Maric’s bastard son, but they were always just that. Rumours. Though, he had his suspicions. Now there were reports of one of the remaining Wardens in Ferelden being the last of the Theirin bloodline? This information could most definitely not be made public. It had the potential to destroy everything he and Teryn Loghain worked for. This Alistair was a liability and a threat that would challenge the very throne itself, and Howe wasn’t about to let that happen. The boy needed to be eliminated as soon as possible. 

“And the other Warden?” he inquired. 

“A name was not disclosed. But a possible identity could be attributed to her,” the guard said, before continuing. “Many months ago, before the battle of Ostagar, news reached the city guard that the arl of Denerim's son, Vaughan Kendells, was murdered in his own home by an ashen-haired elven woman. All his men met a similar fate, as there were no survivors.”

Rendon Howe scoffed. “One elf managed to best a squadron of trained men? Don't be absurd.”

The guard shrugged. “Rumours claim she was assisted, but how legitimate the sources are, I cannot say. She was supposed to be sentenced to death, but a Grey Warden presumably invoked the Rite of Conscription and recruited her into the order.”

“And you believe she is the same Warden travelling with Theirin?”

“I do not know,” the guard answered honestly.

Howe scratched his chin in thought. If they were truly the same person, if one of the Wardens was responsible for the death of Vaughan Kendells, then perhaps he could use that to his advantage after all. The loss of Kendells was insignificant. Just another noble's son who expired with a whimper. But should all of Denerim learn of the murderer amongst the Grey Wardens' ranks, then their image would only be further tarnished. It would be an ace card for the Bannorn, another reminder to them that the Wardens were nothing more than renegades. As if being king killers weren't enough. Though, that was a different story. 

Fortunately, he was never a man who threw all his coin into one pot. 

“Bring her in.”

“Right away.”

The doors to his chamber were opened for a woman that could’ve been mistaken for one of noble stature, had he not known her origins. The dark, lavender dress was extravagant, but not enough to draw attention, which was for the best, given her profession. Most of her face was covered in a porcelain Volto mask. The rest of her body was equally covered, with the only notable area of skin being right above her cleavage. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at the sight. Her type always loved their masks. She strutted in gracefully, the periodic clacks of her heels against the floor marking her entrance. 

Howe had his doubts about her, like he did with all his clients. His sources claimed she was well-respected, efficient at her job. Had a clean track record, too. But then again, they said the same thing about the Antivan Crows, and the man they hired had failed the assassination attempt. 

Howe looked at the guard. “Leave us.” 

The man bowed, before leaving them to their privacy.

“You were quick to get in contact with me,” he commented. “Business run dry back home?”

“Nothing of the sort,” came her nonchalant reply. “I simply see an opportunity at play here. I understand that feeling must be mutual, no?”

Howe smiled darkly. “Why, of course. I’ve heard good things, your reputation precedes you. But you must understand, I’m risking a lot by conversing with you here.”

The woman stepped closer to his desk and took a seat opposite to him. “Rest assured, our dear Teryn Loghain will know nothing of this. Of... _us._ ” She smiled then, a mischievous little thing, like they were two kids sharing a secret from a strict parent who wasn’t home yet.

Howe held Loghain to high regard. The man was admirable, practical, and he always had the will to do what must be done. A _true_ Fereldan. Not like the Couslands, who had forgotten their loyalties long ago. But sometimes, Loghain took his patriotism too far, like many veterans from the old war did, and that often made for unnecessary hindrances. Loghain was a great man of many things, but flexible was not one of them. Luckily for him, being the Hand to the King gave Howe the opportunity and freedom to do the things the man was too prideful to do. And Teryn Mac Tir _would_ be king. No queen or bastard son was going to stop that. 

There were whisperings of Anora's infertility, of course. But Howe knew that the Teryn's daughter was as much infertile as Cailan was a devoted husband. His escapades with servants and whores did little help in bringing Anora an heir, and now that he was dead, the woman only carried the crown in name. Birthright always succeeded, which was why the existence of another Theirin was such a great concern to him. 

“I best not be hiring a woman of words. I will not except failure,” he warned. 

“Give me a month and they will be yours,” she promised. “I have eyes and ears in the Blackstone Irregulars.” She brought the glass to her mouth for a drink, then continued. “I have already picked up a trail.”

“You and your mercenaries…” Howe shook his head bemusedly. “I will never understand your reliance on them. They’re the last thing you would consider subtle, and are oftentimes sloppy to a fault.”

“Mmm, yes indeed, they can be a brutish type. But this is Ferelden. The alliance with them is merely temporary. My agents may have reach, but why use a lockpick when you can acquire the keys itself?”

Howe waved a hand. “Spare your colourful analogies. I only expect results.”

“And you will get them in due time.” 

With their arrangement agreed upon, the woman curtsied smoothly and exited the room. Even behind the mask, her eyes silently spoke of a dangerous promise. That she had her own personal agenda was an obvious fact. It always involved an agenda when it involved contacts from different nations. Though, he was curious as to what it was. If it involved taking advantage of Ferelden’s weakened state in any way, he would have to dispose of her afterwards. The risk was too much, especially when this was supposed to be an operation kept under tight wraps. 

Howe knew just how vulnerable the kingdom was, more so than Loghain did. Every day, he heard more of the supposed heroism of the Wardens. Their rescue of Redcliffe only served to turn more sympathizers to their cause. Meanwhile, the Bannorn was still in chaos, their ilk still too caught up in the death of Cailain. But there may yet be a way to turn that into his favour in the end. 

News of the alienage’s uprising had been culled, so to speak. This provided yet another opportunity. The elves may be placated for now, but Howe decided now was a good chance to capitalize on their weakened state. Neighbouring nations always needed something, and although Ferelden was struck by the Blight, that didn’t make it absent of resources. Far from it. In time, he would propose this to Teryn Loghain. But not yet. Howe signed the letter he was writing with his signature, then finished it with a wick dipped in sealing wax, the red insignia hardening on the paper. 

He called for his messenger. “Send this to Magister Caladrius in Minrathous.”

“It will be done, sire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude chapter. Next one will be following our Wardens again.  
> Couldn't post this until now because the last several weeks were very heckin' busy. A lot happened, mostly good things, but yeah. The next chapter should be up by tomorrow at the latest.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	27. Red Snow

Not even her Fereldan blood could’ve prepared Carmen for just how mind-numbingly cold the Frostback Mountains were, and they were supposed to be a people unfazed by spontaneous weather. One region would be dry and humid. A few kilometres north and above sea level, you’d have yourself a snowstorm, even when it was the middle of spring. Not for the first time, she was jealous of the mages and their magical barriers. Though, even they were growing worried now that the sun was gone. But the cold was the least of their problems. It was the snow that slowed their travels the most, even with Shale at the front of the path to block the worst of the blizzard. 

“Keep moving!” Carmen yelled through the blaring wind. “We’ll be out of this storm soon!”

“We go on like this and we’ll all freeze to death!” Morrigan yelled back. 

Alistair held onto the hood of his cloak. “What?!” It was difficult to hear and he grimaced as his face was attacked by the flurry every time he raised his head.

“We need to find shelter,” Carmen said to him, before turning to Zevran. “How is she?”

“Wynne says she’s stable. Still reacting to the cold, so that’s a good sign, yes?”

“Aye.” She nodded. “But we best hurry. Don’t want to run into any more of the horde.”

Ever since Denerim, Leliana hadn’t been thrilled about being forced to wear those ‘ugly Fereldan boots’, as she put it. But with where they were going, and a detailed run-down on the horrific effects of frostbite provided by Morrigan, it was enough to persuade the bard. However, after a recent encounter with a small batch of darkspawn that seemingly came out of nowhere, Leliana had lost her cloak in the fight. She said she would be fine afterwards, and Carmen blamed herself for believing her. Seemed none of them anticipated the snowstorm to intensify by this much, and an hour later, Leliana had started showing signs of hypothermia. 

Now, she rested in Bodhan’s cart with Wynne keeping a close eye over her condition. They steadily travelled uphill in search of someplace they could rest, for not even a mage’s spell could sustain them for long before it’d be considered a waste of mana. 

“Carmen, look! Up ahead,” Zevran provided. 

She held a hand up to protect her face, even though she still felt the biting sting of the wind, and looked up to spot the faint silhouettes of several cabins a distance away. Carmen breathed out in relief. Maybe now, they could restock their supplies by trading with the inhabitants. But the closer they came, the more deserted the village appeared. It was dark. Not a single source of light came from within the windows of the homesteads, nor any smoke from their chimneys to indicate activity from within. It all seemed rather abandoned, actually. But that didn’t matter at the moment. Anything to put themselves out of the blizzard for the time being was good enough for her. 

Once Sten and Morrigan scouted the area for any potential danger and came back to confirm that it was safe, the rest of the party had Bodahn stop his cart outside the largest cabin they could find. There, they entered and settled themselves, glad that the roof over their heads could offer them some semblance of cover from the ashen nightmare outside. 

Carmen wasted no time with giving everyone direction. “Morrigan, start that fire as soon as you can. Zevran, Sten, Alistair, you three help Bodahn and Sandal unload whatever provisions we've left. Let's turn this place into a camp!”

Leliana was laid on a bedroll with the older mage still monitoring her physical state. “Her breathing is too slow for comfort and she’s exhibiting signs of drowsiness,” Wynne said after confirming she didn't have frostbite. With that, a small spell was cast to keep Leliana’s body temperature steady. 

Carmen had Alistair pass her an extra blanket, and she went over to drape it over the bard while they waited for the fire to slowly bring more warmth into the room. 

“You're gonna want to do whatever you can to stay warm, _and_ awake,” Carmen explained, and continued when Leliana gave her a weak nod. “You're still shiverin’, that’s good. Means your body’s not given up yet. Fall asleep now and we’re gonna have a real hard time gettin’ you to come back.”

"Not speaking from experience, I hope," Alistair nervously jested.

“Seen enough of it meself,” she said grimly.

“Carmen.” Her spiraling thoughts of worry were interrupted by Wynne, looking at her with a soft expression. “She's going to be okay,” the mage reassured.

“I _know_ ,” she said with a scowl. The words came out harsher than Carmen wanted them to. “I know..." The words trailed off, and Wynne shook her head with concern.

“Warden,” Sten interjected, “the bard is weak, our rations are low, and we do not know where we are. Journeying here was most unwise.”

“We’re gonna to make it through this-”

“What is your strategy exactly? Do you intend to keep going north until it becomes south, and attack the archdemon from the rear?” he questioned, very much impatient with her by now. “You claimed you were a Warden, but all you’ve been doing is running _away_ from your purpose, gallivanting off to the middle of nowhere in search of the charred remains of a dead woman, of all things.”

“That I don’t blindly charge headfirst into battle doesn’t mean I’m running,” Carmen countered back hotly, before regaining a calm demeanour. “We need the ashes, Sten. They’re the last thing that could save Arl Eamon.”

“The life of one is not needed to kill an archdemon, especially that of an old man whose loyalty is still in question.”

“That may be so," she said before Alistair could protest, "and yeah, this wild-goose chase is a gamble. But he’s the only man with enough influence to fight back against Loghain.” Carmen rubbed her head tiredly, but continued resolutely. “Ferelden’s in a civil war as we speak, all because of that usurper. If we don’t unite this fractured kingdom, there won’t be enough manpower for us to even have the chance to get _near_ the archdemon.”

Sten didn’t reply. Instead, he looked at her with narrowed eyes, almost as if he was studying her intently like an unsolvable jigsaw. The two said nothing during their staredown, and the room grew even more frigid when neither seemed intent at backing down. Besides the uncomfortable stares from the others, no one dared say anything either, all waiting for one of them to make their first move. 

But to her surprise, Sten finally nodded. “Your logic is sound enough. I will follow, for now.”

She didn’t miss the unsaid threat. He stepped away to continue his duties without another word, and in all respects, Carmen felt like she had just narrowly dodged a thrown axe to the head. She sighed and lit a hand lantern, motioning for Morrigan to come over.

“All of you get yourselves warm,” Carmen announced to everyone in the room. “Don’t know how long we’ll stay here exactly. Morrigan and I are gonna scout out ahead in search of supplies, and maybe better acquaint ourselves with the area.”

“ _Now?”_ Morrigan hissed, none too pleased with the idea of stepping out into the cold again. 

“We’re sitting ducks here. Last thing we need are any nasty surprises. We go out for a short bit, figure out where the blazes we are on the map, find ourselves some food, then head back.” When the witch still didn’t look too convinced, Carmen gave her a reassuring look. “It’ll be fine. Alistair, you got the helm for now. Stay here in case there’s darkspawn about.”

He nodded warily, probably unsure of being left alone in charge, even if temporary. With Morrigan going away with her, though, she hoped it would at least give Alistair the chance to become more comfortable in this sort of position. She needed him ready in the future, for obvious reasons. Carmen didn’t like to think about the worst-case scenario, but someone had to. With Shale guarding the entrance, she wasn’t too worried about her companions. The golem had the advantageous fortune of being completely unfazed by the cold, or any sort of extreme weather for that matter, and they were more than pleased with bragging about that fact. 

Before Carmen took her leave, she used the time waiting for Morrigan to get ready by checking up on Leliana one last time. Carmen crouched beside her and rubbed her shoulders tenderly. “Hey, lass. Talk to me.”

“...m’tired.” Her voice was weak, lacking the vigour they were usually used to from her. 

“I know. But I need you to stay awake for me.” Carmen uncorked a heated waterskin and handed it to Leliana for her to drink. In an attempt to keep her mentally active, she kept talking. “Say, you ever made a bottled ship before?” When Leliana shook her head, Carmen smiled. “How ‘bout when you get better, I show you how to make one? Ya might wonder how one could squeeze a ship through a bottleneck, sails ‘n all, but I promise, it’s easier than it sounds.”

Leliana gave a weak smile in response. “Hm, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? If you don’t already know, maybe I could also teach you how to play the lute.”

“That just your way of slowly pushing me towards singing?” Carmen chuckled at the shameless expression she got in response. “Sneaky bard. We’ll see.”

* * *

Morrigan was hard-pressed to find whoever lived in this village and she much preferred the idea that it was uninhabited. It was less complicated that way. Abandoned ruins, for instance, made for relaxing strolls and were less scary than people claimed they were, bar the occasional giant spiders and spirits she had to avoid. Over the years, she had grown to dislike the phrase, ‘the veil is thin here’, only for its ridiculous overuse by people who only meant they were feeling queasy about a place, without really understanding its true meaning. Being easily afraid didn’t make a place haunted with spirits. But Morrigan would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel the veil constantly shifting amidst this village, like there was a small animal moving beneath a blanket. It was the kind of place where you could start a religion. 

Or a murder.

She and the Warden trudged through the snow and delved deeper into the heart of the village, where the cabins grew more abundant, their architecture old yet contemporary. Still no signs of anyone in particular, which could potentially mean two things. One — they were in the wrong place. Or two — they were in the right place, but they were being watched. The thin layer of hope Morrigan had that it was a well and truly abandoned village was broken when they heard the faint sounds of a snort and whinny, pushing through the blaring of the wind. Their path revealed a horse shed housing three, fine stallions.

”Sturdy mounts,” Morrigan remarked.

“Gotta be worth more than the entire village. Keep your eyes open.”

Carmen moved quietly as she opened the door to one of the buildings, greeted with a space full of storage rooms, supplies, and items of interest. This must’ve been some sort of shop, if the counter was any indication of that. Carmen was quite pleased that they were able to salvage some food at least. That was, up until she spotted something near the stove that made her hands hover over her weapon. 

Kneeling to take a closer look, Carmen grunted at the sight. “Embers.” She pointed over the remains of the activity. “Means this was recent.”

“Well, that all but rules out any possibility of us being alone,” Morrigan said with disappointment.

Carmen stood back up with her hands on her hips. “Question now is where is everyone?”

They looked around the room some more, grabbing only the essentials on the way so as to not over-encumber themselves. Carmen said she expected a fight. Their best chance would be to take it outside and let the storm cover their tracks while they fled. But like a hit of déjà vu, the horrid smell brought back memories of their time in Denerim, discovering a corpse hidden in the backrooms of Brother Genitivi’s residence. Only this time, there were two. 

Two bodies still in their armour, chained to the floorboard and both their eyes scraped out, riddled with flies. Morrigan shuddered. What a nasty way to die. Whoever they were when they were still alive, she couldn’t know. But judging from the horses she saw earlier and the emblems on their chest plates, they were enough for her to get an idea. 

So Morrigan took an educated guess. “Perhaps these were one of the few knights of Redcliffe sent to find the relic.” 

“But Genitivi himself is still a no show. This isn’t good.” Carmen paused to mark something on her map, then slung her things over her back. “We gotta get back to the others, and quick.”

“If we are to expect a battle afterwards, I assume you will have a better plan than to bring that bard with us.”

Carmen stopped and turned, a confused expression on her face. “What are you implying?”

“She’s weakened, delirious, and will only slow us down,” Morrigan stated simply. No room for mincing words. 

“We’re not leaving Leliana behind.” The elf shook her head. “Not when we’re so close to the ashes.”

Morrigan arched an eyebrow. “So sure we’ll find them, are you? If this decision of yours is just rooted in an emotional sense of obligation for the bard, then-”

“She has a name,” Carmen cut her off, letting the witch know that that she was close to crossing a line. “And no, this is about leaving no one behind. Whoever gets hurt will be _my_ responsibility.”

There was a determined fire in her eyes. _Good._ Morrigan smiled, satisfied with her answer, and the two made their way to the exit without another word, as if the brief exchange had never even happened.

Whether or not Leliana was worth the risk remained to be seen, but Carmen seemed adamant about it. Morrigan had been watching her sudden change from lay sister to bard since Lothering. One moment, she’d be obnoxiously merciful, the next, she’d kill a bandit with such skill that could only have been taught by a professional. Leliana had slipped up, twice now — once with Jowan when he was in his cell, the second with that templar, Cullen. Nevermind that time she had practically spelt it out for them. The bard was not as clever as she thought.

Surely the Warden saw Leliana for the fraud she was? Not _that_ Warden, he was too easily charmed for his own good. But _the_ Warden. The woman that had been leading them through the Blight since the beginning. Morrigan nearly groaned, and not from the cold weather this time. Carmen needed to focus. There was no room for personal attachments that would cloud her judgement. Morrigan needed her alive, and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed Alistair alive. It had taken some time to come to terms with this, but the two Wardens couldn’t do this without the other, she realized. 

* * *

Brother Genitivi was near death when they found him. 

Still feeling weary, Leliana leaned against a pillar, watching as Wynne mended his wounds enough so that he could at least stand. Everyone had been concerned with her coming along due to her still recovering. Andraste’s sacred ashes were _here,_ somewhere deep beneath this place, and she almost lamented the possibility of missing out. But Carmen had just looked her up and down, and in the gentlest voice said, _‘prithee, be careful’_. Had Leliana not been so surprised, she would’ve hugged her. 

“Ah, quiet, insular communities.” Zevran sighed pleasantly. “There’s always something nasty going on behind closed doors.”

Wynne rolled her eyes. “You always think there’s something nasty going on behind closed doors.”

“That’s because there often is.” 

”Who saw it coming?” Carmen asked rhetorically. “Honestly, I’m shocked, I tell you. _Shocked_.”

Carmen was, in fact, not shocked.

When they reached the Chantry, where all the villagers had resided, explaining their absence everywhere else, they had attacked on sight. Just regular men and women carrying pitchforks, sickles, and shovels. It was bizarre. Like they were indoctrinated, and perhaps a lifetime of seclusion in the mountains made people susceptible to that. 

“What should we do with him?” Alistair pointed to Revered Father Erik, who was still awake but bleeding out. 

Any sarcasm left on Carmen’s tongue was gone by the time she directed her attention towards the man with a glare. Leliana hadn’t seen that look in a long time. It was cold and apathetic. It was the look of someone who didn’t have an ounce of mercy within their bones to give, and maybe these cultists didn’t deserve any. But it wasn't about what they deserved. Having mercy rarely ever was. 

The revered father coughed into his hands, his mana completely drained, leaving him all but helpless. Yet even now, he attempted to resist.

“You’ll never make it past Father Kolgrim,” he croaked. “He will show you the light, and you will burn under the rays.” 

“This is madness,” Leliana muttered under her breath. 

The cleric chuckled darkly. “Such are the words of those who gaze upon the dancers and cannot hear the music. We’ll make you see eventually, my dear.” He eyed her sinisterly, and Leliana had to do everything not to squirm under his leer.

Carmen didn't take kindly to his threat, however. “Bold promises for a dying man.”

“In the glory of Andraste’s return, we are unrelenting!” Father Erik declared confidently. “We are immortal.”

_Andraste’s return?_

Carmen’s lips quirked. “Then shall we put that immortality to the test?” She raised the tip of her spear until it touched Father Erik’s throat, pressing against it enough that it drew blood.

The sting of pain stopped the man’s incessant ramblings, and he grunted weakly. “You can’t kill me. You cannot! This is the Maker’s house!” he exclaimed defiantly, as if that was his one-way ticket out of his inevitable death. “Nobody spills the blood of a Revered Father in the Maker’s house!” 

“The Maker’s house? No...” Carmen purred, her voice dropping low and sending chills down Leliana’s spine. The Warden leaned in close to Father Erik and flashed him a devilish smile. “It’s just four walls and a roof.”

Before the Father could even muster a plea, Carmen beheaded the man with one, swift motion and let his head drop to the floor, staining the Chantry tiles of the floor and altar an ugly red. Alistair had winced and looked away at that point. There was an indescribable horror when faced with a man's neck cleaved open, all his sins trickling out into the open for all the world to see. The holy figures on the stained glass around the altar watched from above, each with disinterested expressions, their divine colours illuminating a blood-stained room, and Leliana wondered if the Maker was watching now. 

Wynne made a noise of displeasure. “Must you always be so barbaric?”

The Warden raised an eyebrow, wiping the speartip of blood. “Oh, I'm sorry. Where would you prefer that I leave the head next time, for your utmost convenience?”

“Don't get ahead of yourself,” the mage warned warily. 

Morrigan stepped around the body with an unbothered look and shrugged. “The rantings of an overzealous madman make for tedious listening.” 

She suspected there was more where that came from. After everything they’ve seen from the cult, and after everything they’ve done to Brother Genitivi, to the knights of Redcliffe and all the unfortunate travellers, Leliana still managed to feel something for them. Not quite sympathy, no, but pity. This cult was in every way a bastardization of the Chantry. But there was a small part of her that felt guilty for judging them, especially when her beliefs were just as blasphemous as theirs. That Andraste had returned, that the Maker was still here, despite all evidence to the contrary...what did it matter? These people had all died for for their beliefs, gladly laying their lives down with unnerving enthusiasm. The priests, the villagers, the children too. If this was what their life’s work of dedication led to, she could almost weep at their hubris. But no one could ever capture Andraste’s true vision. Not when it died with her in the flames. 

But one question remained at the back of Leliana’s mind. Were they killing for themselves, or for their saviour?

With a limp and a grateful smile for their rescue, Brother Genitivi led them deeper into the chamber, excitedly rambling about his research. 

“What I would’ve given to see this hall in all its splendor, as it was meant to be.” He sighed wistfully. “Still, sweep away the ice and snow, and beauty remains underneath.”

The architecture was familiar yet foreign, a relic itself that was detached from the rest of the world, with nothing but echoes from a long since erased memory. Ascending stairs lead to what seemed to be a chamber so impossibly long, it dwarfed the dance floors of Halamshiral. Stately pillars, spaced to admit the reflecting light of large bonfires that kept the room warm enough to survive, gave the air a dream-like atmosphere. Against all reason, Leliana felt an intense sense of nostalgia for a time she didn’t even experience or live in.

Of course, their contemplation was broken eventually when more cultists showed up and attacked, a swarm of them rushing into the chamber to halt their progress. 

“V formation!” Carmen yelled to her companions, her shield already up. 

Leliana’s hands wrapped around the wood of her recurve, and even though her vision was still unfocused from her recovery, she notched an arrow. “We can’t expect the Maker to do all the work!”

She surveyed her enemies from afar for a moment. With Carmen and Alistair’s defences at the front, Leliana was able to fire at ease. She ducked a fireball from a mage and reached for another quiver. Her fingers pulled back her bowstring, before releasing the tension, like plucking the strings of a harp. Using a bow was very much like using a musical instrument. You had to respect it before you could truly understand it, much less, master it. The battle itself was a dance, and Leliana was there to provide the music, as any good bard should. Only, instead of sending chords of notes, she sent volleys of arrowheads that forced her enemies to fight in the shade. 

After all her years of training, Leliana didn’t need to _see_ where her enemies were anymore, not really. She just needed to guide the arrow where it needed to go. That had become second nature, and without the environmental factors such as the wind, it was a breeze in the park.

One cultist slipped through and got close enough to make a swing for her head. Leliana deflected the attack with her arm braces and sent her boot to his crotch, potentially ending his bloodline, and he sang her a high note before doubling over. A dagger and a slit to his throat, and he joined the rest of his brethren into purgatory.

Morrigan and Wynne were just as essential in ranged attacks as well. Their spells drew panicked cries from the cultists until those who remained fled deeper into the caverns. Leliana retrieved one of her arrows from a corpse while they regained their footing.

_So, the hunt begins again._

* * *

They were exhausted by the time they reached Father Kolgrim, a fact the cultists took great advantage of. Miraculously, they somehow managed to get the upper hand in the end. Right up until Kolgrim abandoned his men and sprinted out of the temple until he reached the peak of the mountain. In what must’ve been a last-ditch attempt at survival, he struck the golden plate of a gong so hard, the sound reverberated across the summit. 

As the gentle echoes steadily died off, they looked at him bemusedly. But then, there it was.

Carmen heard it before she saw it. The sound could almost be mistaken for the wind, if not for its repetitive and rhythmic nature, like a heartbeat. Wings flapped from above with enough force to pick up the snow and the low rumble of something akin to thunder in the distance. Then a deafening boom that shook the ground, breaking chunks of ice and snow down the side of the mountain. 

“What in the Maker’s name...?” Alistair gasped.

The skies darkened, and Carmen imagined it to be an early sign of the end of times. But when her eyes finally adjusted to what was above her, she froze on the spot. She had heard tales in her youth, seen depictions of the beast before her aplenty. For centuries, they were nothing more than myths, both worshipped and feared. But none such tales could come close to capturing the real thing. Its kind thought extinct, until their unexpected return in the Dragon Age, and here it was in all its fearsome magnificence. 

Horns pulled back, wings larger than its body, and violet scales glistened like the shell of beetles, so beautiful it was enough to make anyone religious. It was no wonder that the ignorant and fearful believed this was their Holy Andraste returned and reborn in the flesh, for who could gaze upon this high dragon and not stand in awe of its power? 

Father Kolgrim was laughing. “Don’t you feel it? The gift of the godhead cometh! Be blessed to witness the glorious reign of the Maker’s Bride renewed.” He raised his weapon high in triumph, believing he had already won. “I call to you, as Herald of Andraste, to cleanse the blasphemers so that they may be reborn in fire, just as you were!”

It roared, the sound sharp enough to shatter ice, emboldened by that fact as the small tails of fire flickered out of the sides of its mouth. When it came to a scenario like this, there were two kinds of people in this world — those who felt like flinging themselves off the mountain in fear, and those who were liars.

Alistair’s face had paled, and Carmen wouldn't be surprised at all if hers was the same. He turned to look at her with a dry expression, and sighed. “Never a dull moment with you, huh?” 

”And here I was, ready to puke from all the boredom!” Zevran quipped, pausing to look at the others. “We are to battle the dragon, yes?”

“Don’t see much of a choice in that matter,” Sten replied sternly.

Morrigan huffed exasperatedly. “What is bravery without a dash of recklessness?” 

Ah yes, there was nothing else that came close to dragon-slaying. A warrior’s highest calling, many could only dream of having the privilege to even face such a mighty beast. A ferocious dragon they happened upon indeed, even Morrigan was none too thrilled at provoking its ire.

The high dragon soar through the sky, spreading its wings like a hawk plunging for a mouse. Then it opened its jaw and revealed the bright light of its flames that was equal amounts hypnotic and terrifying. Having no care for who was caught in the fire, the flames came rushing towards them like a scalding tidal wave that scorched everything in its path. Including Father Kolgrim.

“Everyone off the bridge, now!” she yelled.

The area burst into an explosion of sparks and inferno. Just like that, the mad Father was dead and burnt to a crisp, the flames so hot, all that was left of his body was a charred, black figure that closely resembled a human, his armour having melted into his remains like bloody candle wax. So much for his undying faith. It was a foretelling of the fate that awaited the rest of them if they didn’t get their wits together.

Heatwaves assaulted her senses, and Carmen struggled to rise with a groan. “Ugh...I really need to get fucked by something other than my life,” she muttered tiredly. 

“It’s coming back this way!” Zevran hollered.

“You and Sten strike when she comes for me!” Carmen immediately started barking out orders, forcing herself to remain calm despite the unmistakable shake in her voice. “Alistair and Shale will focus on drawing its attention. The rest of you fire at a distance!”

She whistled for Blue to stay close, and he did, ever the loyal mabari. 

There they were, hopeless fools potentially running to their deaths in the vain hope to slay a dragon. But if Carmen was to die today, then she could think of a death no more glorious than this. She’d rather be ended by a dragon, here and now, instead of rotting in the streets with a knife in her back, like the unfortunate fate of many elves. 

With the snap of the dragon’s jaw that nearly caught her, Carmen darted to the left and thrust her spear at its chest. The weapon gave her the right amount of range and distance from the dragon to avoid a fatal blow. It attempted to strike back with a swing of its claw, and she rolled away just in time to evade the attack.

Meanwhile, Wynne and Morrigan were hurling ice and lightning spells from afar, respectively. Alistair did a good job keeping its attention away from them by making noise with his shield and the occasional swing of his sword. He ducked a tail swipe, while Shale came charging in from the opposite side, landing a fearsome punch to the dragon’s face that made it stumble. 

But their efforts were not enough.

Flames spewed from its mouth, this time a fireball the size of the sun that sent everyone flying. Carmen must’ve landed wrongly because she heard a crack. Didn’t know what bone it was because of the adrenaline, but she knew it was going to be an absolute bitch to heal afterwards. If there _was_ an afterwards. 

Carmen saw the dragon’s shadow looming over her, and she scrambled fruitlessly, believing this was the end. But instead of being greeted with fire or a maw full of sharp teeth, there was the sound of an agonized cry from the beast.

She looked back to see it clasping its bleeding eye, and through the creaks of its claws revealed the tail end of an arrow.

“Stay away from her!” Leliana cried furiously from afar, firing another. 

Enraged with the pain she had caused, the dragon abandoned all its attention with the others and sped straight towards the bard. Carmen cursed under her breath, hastily picking herself up to chase after it. Leliana was still shooting, an act that baffled her to no end.

_Run! Why wasn’t she running?!!_

Suddenly, all of Carmen’s selfish desire to go out in glory was replaced with a sickening clench around her heart. A feeling that made her almost gasp out loud.

Fear.

That fear was intensified when the dragon closed in on Leliana and prepared to snap its teeth around her. How could Carmen have even _entertained_ the notion of leaving her companions behind to fight the dragon, while she waltzed to the afterlife, boasting about the way she died? It was inconceivable. She was _better_ than that.

Carmen forced her legs to run, but they never seemed fast enough. She couldn’t see much of what happened from here, but there was a flash of light that could only have come from a spell. The dust cleared to reveal Morrigan who rushed in from the side with a bolt of lightning that forced the dragon backwards. But this served to only infuriate it even further, and it bellowed out a resounding screech that made her ears tingle. 

There was a brief moment in which Morrigan readied another spell. But it wasn’t quick enough, and her waist was callously grabbed by the dragon’s teeth, her staff dropping in the process before she was flung into the air like a ragdoll. 

“ _Morrigan!”_ she screamed.

Carmen watched in horror as the witch landed a distance away beside destroyed rubble, her body motionless. Whether she was still alive was impossible to tell. Wynne was already upon her, and that would have to be enough for now. They were not done yet.

“You motherfucker,” Carmen growled. With a raised arm, she launched her spear with all her might, and the polearm struck the dragon under its arm, causing it to howl in pain. “Face me, creature!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Sten and Zevran took this opportunity to go in for the attack, leaving brutal marks around the dragon’s joints and ultimately weakening it further. It bought Carmen enough time to unsheathe her sword and jump upon its back to plunge the blade down through the leathery skin.

The dragon stood up on its hind legs, and before Carmen could figure out what it was doing, she was picked up into the air as the winged serpent attempted to fly off. 

“Carmen!” Leliana called after her in fright. 

The velocity nearly knocked her clean off its back. It whisked away the breath in her lungs, but Carmen hung on with every ounce of strength she had left. It wasn’t much, but she didn’t dare let go now. Her companions looked up helplessly from below as the dragon took off with her. They had to be several hundred metres off the ground at this point, and a fall from up here would be a swift plummet to the grave. But she forced herself to climb further up its back, even as her muscles burned with the effort. 

Finally, she reached the dragon’s head, and with an angry cry, Carmen drove her sword deep into its neck. The wound fountained blood and it flung around wildly in torment, nearly tossing her off had she not held onto the hilt of her blade so hard 'til her palms blistered. Being this close to the dragon made its wail all the more tumultuous. At the speeds they were going, Carmen felt her knees go weak at the force. The air was thinner and colder at the heights they were at,making it harder to breathe. Her ears were ringing with soft spikes of pain, teeth clattered at the cold, and a grimace as the harsh winds blew against her face, heart pounding fervently at the rush...

Andraste and the Warden came plunging to the earth like a falling star. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morrigan, taking one for the team.  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)


	28. Oh, Misbeliever

It was there where it stood boring its eyes into her own, laced with a threat spoken entirely in an ancient language without actual words, its figure towering over her like an ant. The rest was too hard to make out, a vague silhouette at most, like her mind had blocked out the rest of the dragon because it was too menacing to bear. Carmen’s body ached and tingled all over, slowly submerged underwater until her vision rippled. It was the kind of ache that felt like she was about to wake up from a nightmare, only to find that her body in the waking world had died centuries ago and that this nightmare was the only place where she could remain somewhat alive. The last place her consciousness could exist. Was that what Uthenera was?

Father once told her that was where the ancient elves went when they grew weary of life, wishing to rest from the burdens of all their memories. Some would return, one day. But others never did, and as their bodies were still tied to the mortal realm, they eventually would decay per nature’s demand. This practice had long since been lost though. Carmen was beginning to stir, but not quite there, trapped in the space between awake and asleep. She was very much afraid she’d find out she slept through several ages. Would she even still be alive? Did the Blight ravage all of Thedas by now?

Then there was a voice. Several, in fact. Too deep in the water now to make out what they said clearly, like they were talking through a yawn. They travelled in waves, a soft periodic resonance that sounded from afar, a whale’s moan somewhere in there too. Each one was the same though, two syllables over and over again.

 _Wake up,_ she could finally hear. _Wake up, Carmen._

Something tugged at the back of her armour, pulling her up to the surface before the abyss could swallow her whole, and it called out to her again-

“Carmen, wake up!”

A choked gasp came from her throat and, in an instant, the white light stung her bleary eyes. Carmen’s hand reached out in panic and was caught by another’s. Strong and firm, stocky too. It was the hand of a friend’s. Then there was another hand, moving the hair out of her face and brushing against her cheek. Far gentler than she expected, colder and smooth to the touch, and much more slender than the other. 

“Carmen,” called a woman’s voice. 

Her eyes adjusted to the image of her companions hovering over her. 

“Hey, just take it easy.” 

_Alistair_ , she recognized, his breath came in soft pants. Carmen looked to her left to see Leliana beside him, eyes filled with worry. She appeared relatively unharmed, which was more than she could ask for, really. But then the events came back to her in a rush.

Carmen’s eyes became frantic. “Morrigan...”

“Being tended to by Wynne as we speak,” Leliana reassured calmly. “She’s alive, barely.”

It was not the answer she wanted, but it was the one she needed. They were lucky Wynne was with them at all. No one else could quite accomplish the things she could. Besides the fact that Morrigan was incapacitated at the moment, she favoured destruction and entropic spells. She had made it clear that healing magic was never her strong suit for anything more than a papercut. She might be able to put together a killer potion with the measly amount of herbs in her pouch, but nothing beat healing spells. Carmen’s last sight of the witch had made her flinch. The memory of the dragon charging towards Morrigan, its jaw clamping down on her waist that was protected by nothing but robes at most, her body tossed so violently in the air...

Carmen was about to ask where the dragon was, before she damn near had a heart attack as her eyes fully adjusted to the behemoth-sized carcass several metres above them. Were it not for its slumped form with its mouth hung open and slack, she would’ve believed it was still alive. The full weight of the creature and the speed they were falling had ripped open a large crack in the mountain where she consequently ended up in as a result of the force of the crash. One of its wings were torn by the jagged rocks on the way down that nearly convinced her the mountain had a mouth full of teeth, and sunlight pierced through the punctures of its patagium like curtains in the morning.

She exhaled shakingly, fighting her disorientation. “How did I even survive that?”

Alistair shrugged. “Snow could’ve cushioned the fall.”

“At _that_ height?” Carmen exclaimed disbelievingly. “‘Andraste’ must’ve blessed my fall from grace then.”

A few clumps of snow fell from above and they turned their heads up to see Zevran peek down at them from outside the rift. Giving one look at the dragon’s corpse that was suspended halfway down, then back to the three of them, he proceeded to let out a string of relieved laughter. 

“It is truly dead then? Actually _dead!”_ Zevran bellowed with giddiness. “I’m beginning to wonder if anything can kill you, my dear Warden.”

Carmen tried to sound exasperated. “Would rather not test that theory, thanks!”

“Just think of all the free drinks and women we’ll be showered with upon our return to Redcliffe! They’ll sing tales of our glorious battle yet!” he declared, drunk from the victory.

She leaned her head back with a tired smile. Leave it to Zevran to see this triumph as an opportunity to get wasted and laid. Then she began to laugh as well. Even Alistair inclined back against the wall of the crevasse with a giggle and Leliana slumped to the ground, looking just as worn as they were and fighting back her own amusement. It _was_ rather remarkable, and it took Carmen a solid minute to fully realize that _holy shit_ she had just taken down a high dragon and _survived_. The rush of the fight had vanished as soon as it was over and she was now left so very much exhausted. 

“Are you okay?” Leliana touched her chest, surveying her body for any noticeable signs of trauma.

“I’ll live. Might’ve fractured a few bones, though,” she managed to muster when a sharp, stabbing sensation shot through one of her legs every time she put weight on it.

“Let’s take you to Wynne.”

They helped her out of the crevasse, limping back to the others where Carmen finally got a good idea of the full extent of Morrigan’s injuries. She stood frozen on the spot. Gods, there was so much blood, staining the snow scarlet. Her entire lower torso had multiple gaping wounds, so large it gave the impression that Morrigan had been hacked by a greataxe several times. The only indication that she was still alive at all was the periodic escape of cold breath from her pale lips. Wynne was fully concentrated on mending the more threatening abrasions just enough to stop the bleeding. However, she could not mend entire tendons back anew or unbreak bones, not when they were all spent from the fight, and the mage confirmed her suspicions. 

“I have stabilized her for now, but without enough mana, I cannot keep this up,” Wynne explained as clinically as she could. 

Carmen dropped to her knees and placed a hand on the witch’s forehead. Morrigan was already lucky enough to have not lost any limbs, but that was setting the bar a little low. The injuries sustained were too much to heal completely, even for an experienced mage healer. With the amount of blood Morrigan lost and her state weakening by the minute, the prospect of the witch succumbing to her wounds was becoming greater. Their potions had run dry and the trip back down to Haven’s village was too risky. To save her, they would need a miracle. 

Suddenly, Carmen had a thought. 

“Then we must keep going. The temple should be close by, if we can bring her there...” She stood back up, her legs shaking a bit from the cold and the pain. “...We can bring her to the ashes,” she finished.

It was the best and only course of action. They were already headed in that direction, with the ashes being their main goal anyway. But who knew what laid ahead of their path. More cultists and offspring of the dragon would be the worst-case scenario. They had encountered an entire dragon breeding ground within the caverns. They couldn’t afford another battle as large as the previous ones.

To her right, Sten approached her. Thinking there was going to be another objection of some sort from him, Carmen prepared herself. But the verbal fight she expected did not come. Instead, from his side, he brought up and held a shield out to her. Her mother’s shield. She must’ve dropped it at some point during the battle against the dragon. Carmen had abandoned all defensive measures the minute she knew she _had_ to end the fight, then and there, lest more fell victim to its maw much like Morrigan did. 

“You have slain the ataashi. A most honourable feat, its bones shall be forged in your next armour,” Sten said while gesturing to her current one, that had suffered so many tears and dents from the dragon’s talons, it was self-evidently damaged beyond repair. “But for now, I believe this belonged to you.”

Never having expected such acknowledgement from him, Carmen retrieved her shield with a grateful smile. She then turned to the others. “Is everyone else alright?” she asked, though she made a point to look over Leliana, as the bard was closest to Morrigan during the dragon’s final attack. 

The Warden was met with several nods, and with that, they pushed on.

Within the temple’s enclosure was, much like the previous ruins, a hall that shared the same architecture. Worn and overrun with debris due to a lifetime of neglect and unattended maintenance. The air tickled her throat, oddly humid considering it was built atop a snow mountain. Moss and shrooms clung to the crevices in the walls where spores danced in the few rays of visible light protruding from above a broken crack in the ceiling. There was something else that was familiar, though. It was like Carmen was back in the Fade again. She could chalk it down to the veil being thin here, but that was more a gut feeling than anything. Wasn’t like she could actually sense any demonic presence, even if she tried. 

“It’s extraordinary how this temple still stands today, isolated from civilization for so long,” Wynne said with awe as she scanned the room of all its decor and books. “It hums with magic. Leftover traces from Andraste’s power, perhaps?”

Shale’s crystals softly pulsed in the dark. “Hmm, I sense something beneath this place. Sounds like lyrium.”

 _“Sounds?”_ Leliana craned her head up at them inquisitively, before reeling back a bit. “Wait, you can sense lyrium?”

“Can you really be surprised that a walking collection of rocks and crystals can sense _other_ glowing rocks and crystals?” Alistair proposed.

The golem hummed. “The veins in these walls are richer and purer than any I've sensed in a while. It's doing things...changing this temple and everything in it.”

An enigmatic response that only served to create more questions than answers, ones that would have to be answered for another time. 

Morrigan, who had been unconscious in Sten’s arm up until now, emitted a strangled groan of pain, drawing everyone’s attention back to their most urgent matter. They swiftly gathered in a corner of the room and started a fire, making do with the broken shelves as parts for wood. A makeshift cot was prepared, as was a piece of cloth and warm water. Carmen had the others turn the place into a camp for the time being and to go around the room in search of anything that could prove useful.

“Lay her down there,” Wynne ordered Sten, who eased her gently to the cot. She brought out what bandages and tools she still had in her sack in the meantime. “And pass me her pouch. She carries medicinal herbs, I might be able to make do with some of them.”

“Do you think you’ll be alright with her? We don’t know how safe this place is,” Alistair reminded them.

“I will do whatever I can, but I believe the ashes will be pivotal in her recovery.”

“You can’t speed the healing process by mending the damaged flesh?” Carmen inquired.

The mage shook her head, wringing the wet cloth thoroughly. “It’s not so simple. Forced mending can be too much for the body to handle, or there’s risk of something not healing properly, so I will have to leave the rest to natural regeneration. It’s already painful enough for flesh and bones to heal normally. I’m not willing to put any more toll on her body than necessary. Not to mention there’s a limited supply of mana.” Wynne dabbed the cloth around Morrigan’s wounds to wipe away the blood. 

The water stung, and as a response, Morrigan mewled in pain. She cracked one eye open, her brows furrowed in a sort of defiance, and Carmen had never seen her look so vulnerable. This could’ve been prevented if she had kept its attention away from Leliana and Morrigan, better yet, if she had just killed Kolgrim before he could even summon the dragon. But she was too slow. Carmen had allowed Leliana to come, barely recovered from the hypothermia, and each battle had been fought with a knot in her stomach. For a time, killing the cultists had allowed Carmen to let out her frustrations so that she didn’t have to face her weaker emotions. It was a welcome distraction. But now, Morrigan laid dying on the cot, too much blood loss for comfort, and Carmen found she couldn’t ignore how much it worried her.

Once the stitches were applied, Wynne covered them with a salve and the bandages she carried. Wiping the sweat from her own head, the senior enchanter got up with a tired sigh. “She is very weak,” she said, a statement that would’ve had Morrigan angrily protesting if she wasn’t so powerless right now. “I have done all that I can for now. You must ensure that she doesn’t move, lest she reopens her wounds. I will return to monitoring her condition afterwards.”

Once Wynne turned her attention to Carmen’s wounds and finished mending what she could, she announced that she would be taking a short rest, for the day’s events had exhausted her beyond belief. Carmen had to remind herself that Wynne was the oldest member of the party. It was easy to forget sometimes when she could be seen standing toe to toe with Morrigan when it came to magical battle prowess. But everyone had their limits. 

Alistair came over with a waterskin for her, and Carmen thanked him as they sat in momentary silence. There was finally time to recover. Alistair had an odd expression, his eyes never leaving Morrigan’s face even when he took another drink out of his own waterskin.

A sharp hiss of pain escaped Morrigan’s lips as she gave the man a disgruntled glare. “What do you think you’re looking at?” she barked defensively, all claws and teeth ready to fight, despite her state. 

Alistair’s brows shot up and he nearly choked on the water, realizing he was caught staring. “Nothing! I was just-” He sighed and resigned to a simple answer. “I was just looking at your nose.”

The explanation caught Morrigan off guard and she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “And what is it about my nose that captivates you so?” she asked tersely.

He tilted his head a little, casting her his signature smirk. “I was just thinking how much it looks like your _mother's_.”

Morrigan practically fumed. “...I hate you... _so much!”_ she cursed, though they both knew there was nothing she could do in retaliation.

He was getting awfully good at that. That was, indulging Morrigan just enough so he could bait her into stepping exactly where he wanted her to, and he didn’t even bother to hide how positively delighted he was with her response. “Hmm? Did I hear something?” Alistair wondered innocently.

“Just the insipid voices in your head, as usual,” she shot back with an annoyed grunt, refusing to let him win. 

Alistair grinned smugly. “And yet, they are so much more pleasant than yours.”

“Charming.”

“You’re too kind.”

Carmen rolled her eyes at the levity. She figured Morrigan would never let up, even after her near-death experience. Knowing her, she’d sooner die than to miss the opportunity to spite Alistair until the end of his days. But she knew it had become a habit more than anything. He had gone along with her barbs and jabs, more for her sake than his. It was easier to fall back into old, bitter routines than to focus on the pain of the present. An outlet and temporary escape was the common resort to situations like these. But if Carmen never had to hear Morrigan and Alistair bicker again, it would be too soon. 

A weak trembling whimper drew her out of her thoughts and Carmen knelt beside Morrigan carefully, with her immediate desire being to reach out and place a hand on the woman’s shoulder. The need to comfort, it was instinctive, even if the two of them were never what you’d call the best of friends. There was too much going on, too much noise in the world and not enough time for breathing, for care and compassion, especially for people like Morrigan. There was a hitch and a tight squeeze of closed eyes, waves of anguish coming and going. Then a temporary subside, in which the witch’s eyes softened in weariness. 

“You’re going to pull through,” Carmen reassured as best she could.

Morrigan scowled as another harrowing prickle shot through her body. “I want the truth,” she demanded through clenched teeth. “How do I look?”

The elf answered plainly, “You look like you got mauled by a dragon.”

“‘Tis unfortunate.”

“Hey, you aren’t dyin’ on me yet,” Carmen replied with a determined smile. “Ashes might just be yer best chance.”

Morrigan let out a huff. “ _Wonderful._ The only thing that can save me are the charred remains of the Chantry’s greatest messiah. This has to be a cruel jape.”

”If we didn’t already need the ashes so badly, I’d almost be tempted to knock the urn over,” Carmen admitted to her with a snigger. “You know, just to see what would happen.” Because damn if she wasn’t a bit annoyed at how much they had to go through all for a glorified jar of soot.

“Leliana would not be pleased,” Alistair warned, but there was the hint of a mischievous grin there.

The Warden responded with a resounding ‘hah!’ at that. “ _Oh,_ I bet. But can you imagine it, though?” she suggested with glee. “The dedication of a hundred generations of Andraste’s disciples, their Lady’s ashes preserved for a millennia...desecrated with a single drop of blood.”

Morrigan stifled a chuckle. “Hmm, ‘tis tempting.”

Carmen laughed at the outlandish thought, partially relieved that Morrigan’s diabolical humour was still right there with her’s. It was so silly, so _ridiculous,_ like standing at the edge of a cliff and having the illogical desire to jump. Or push someone. Not that she’d ever do any of that, of course, but the attraction towards such an urge was there nonetheless, spawned from the notion of just how _easy_ it could be for a slip of the fingers. Carmen promptly purged such unholy thoughts, not out of genuine guilt, but because she didn’t intend on being smited by the Maker today. They were on sacred ground after all. Though, that didn’t stop Morrigan from relenting and finally letting out her own wheeze of laughter, which she instantly regretted. The sudden jerk of movement was enough to tear open one of her gashes, and the anguished sound of a loud cry echoed through the hall. 

Alistair visibly cringed. “Wynne is going to kill us for that.”

“Probably. I’ll have to wake her to re-close the wound,” Carmen said ruefully. “Blue, watch over her while we’re gone.”

When the mabari came bounding towards Morrigan with his tongue lazily sticking out of his mouth, she seemed to forget that she was writhing in agony for a hot second. “ _Absolutely not,”_ she said, stressing the last word. “You are not leaving this drooling mutt here with me!”

“Would you prefer Alistair?” Carmen offered as an alternative, but she already knew the answer she’d get to that kind of proposition. 

There was no reply, only silent seething. Morrigan’s frown only intensified (if you could believe it) when she spotted the others walking towards them—who were curious as to what all the commotion was—and she turned her face away from them in stoic defiance. Carmen shook her head slightly. The woman could be so melodramatic sometimes, but she went easy on her. 

“Relax, we’ll be back in no time,” she promised with mirth in her voice, but was only met with inaudible grumbles from the witch, and that was all she was going to get from her. 

* * *

There was a Guardian. Not just a regular guardian who was gatekeeping an entrance to a forgotten sanctum. But a _Guardian,_ lost in time, but still standing vigil, with nothing but his oath and immortality keeping him tethered to life. Carmen finally understood why this temple, this place, why it all felt so detached from the world. It wasn’t just the fact that Haven didn’t exist in any known maps, nor was it because its village was corrupt with cultists that had steered away from their original purpose. Nay. Everything within these stone walls was the doing of magic that kept it segregated into its own little world, where time couldn’t dare usher past those front doors. And the man that had the fortunate, or misfortune depending on how you looked at it, of being tasked to stand guard was a living relic from an era long past. 

It was his purpose, and like all purposes that have gone unfulfilled, the shackles of duty would remain unbroken. To what end would it take for such a purpose to be fulfilled? One could never know. But the Guardian seemed content to stay for several ages more. He spoke of the Tevinter Imperium, of the first disciples who carried Andraste’s ashes here, and of the betrayal to this cause until only he remained. Given the age gap, that they understood him at all was astounding.

“I know why thou art here,” the Guardian spoke, as if he could read her mind. “But what is _thy_ purpose, Warden?”

“You ask of my profession?”

“I ask of thy purpose. And I speak not of the one they've curated for thee.” He folded his arms, watching her intently. “Dost thou remember thyself, before the world declared what thee should be?”

Carmen glanced at her companions once, unsure of how to answer to that. “I...”

“One cannot gainsay their calling, Carmentine Tabris.”

She immediately tensed at his words and asked disbelievingly, “How did you know my name?” 

But he didn’t answer her question. “When Shianni was found, she was beaten, used, and broken. In thy desire to protect, thou had become the very thing that had tormented thee."

 _Impossible._ Her eyes flashed angrily at his statement. “What could _you_ know?” she snarled, ignoring the hand placed on her back as someone attempted to calm her. “You’ve no right to judge me. You weren't there. You didn't see what they did, what they've done...” Carmen’s voice started to break, and she glowered at the ground, bile thick in her throat. “What they _still_ do,” she breathed.

The wedding attack was only the most recent of cases. The alienage was a breeding ground for death and it happened far too often. Sometimes it’d be a friend, other times your _cousin’s_ best friend, or the fisherman’s daughter. One day, you’d meet a girl named Felere, a good friend of Nessa’s and a new acquaintance for you, and she’d be alive. So alive she couldn’t even sit still for thirty seconds while she waited for you to finish cooking her your favourite dish. She'd cheat during a game of Wicked Grace, had disagreements with Sorris over poetry, and she was also drop-dead gorgeous, doing all sorts of funny things to your stomach. 

Next thing you knew, she'd disappeared when two human men followed her on the streets one night, and when she was finally found, you never got to speak to her again. And then, abruptly, she was gone. You weren't around to try to talk her out of it, never even given a chance to _anticipate_ it before the tragedy was done, and the only feelings about Felere left in your stomach was a painful sort of regret. All that remained was Nessa, who was just another girl from the bakery that you were starting to really get along with, and now she was suddenly dealing with some heavy shit. There you were, Carmentine Tabris, an armed and ruthless mercenary with an arsenal meant for bloodshed, trained by her mother since she could lift a sword, and...totally useless. 

Because she listened when the others said not to get involved. Because she fooled herself into thinking that girl made it home just fine and would be alright, even said all that to Nessa’s face. There were days when Carmen questioned what the point of all that training was if she couldn’t bloody well _use_ them outside of contracts and bounties on the notice boards. That maybe things would’ve turned out differently if she was just _better,_ if she was a soldier instead, or a human. Anything but an elven mercenary. 

What part of herself did she have to sacrifice for it to be enough?

Carmen turned her attention back to the Guardian and bore her welled up eyes into his, fists shaking a little. “You don't know what it is...to be _hungry,_ ” she choked. 

A cold silence hung over them. She didn’t even care about what those beside her thought of her anymore. If the truth of her nature was what this man wanted, laid bare to everyone in all its ugliness, then so be it.

The Guardian remained as calm as ever. “Dost thou regret?”

Carmen blinked. “What?”

“Regret. Dost thou feel it?”

She thought about all the people she couldn’t protect, all those she failed to save, and it hurt. Once, during their first days together, Leliana had asked Carmen if that was why she was a Grey Warden. If Carmen believed in justice and that was why she joined, beyond just stopping the Blight. So that she could bring retribution to her family, and the life from before. Before she realized her newfound illness was terminal and before ‘law’ became a patchwork thing across this fractured nation. Carmen still had no answer to that. 

“Yes,” she said.

The Guardian nodded once. “Live as long as I do, and thou wilt see the same scars in different people. But I am not here to lecture thee of vengeance.” 

The hand on her back hadn’t left since it was put there, but she felt another placed on her shoulder. 

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened,” Leliana said softly. “Whatever went down, I know you did everything you could.”

Alistair and Zevran were there, too, the meaningful look they gave her more or less their way to reassure. But doubt started to creep in like a snake to the soul. She didn’t deserve this comfort, even when it was something she wanted to believe in so badly.

_Then believe._

Carmen sighed. Now was not the time to dwell. She didn’t want this. Didn’t need a strange man probing her mind, ripping out all her regrets into the open when she had no intention to deal with this now. Carmen’s heart was poisoned, dutifully pumping the taint through her veins just enough to keep her alive, but killing her all the same. But she forced a smile, as she always did. A promise that she’d be fine in the form of a bitter display of teeth. 

“And what of those that travel with thee?” The Guardian turned. “Alistair Theirin, knight and Warden. Thou wish thee had been by Duncan’s side ‘til the very end, to shield him from that final blow. Thou wonders, if it should have been thee who perished instead of him?”

“Yes,” Alistair replied immediately, and the sureness of it was heartbreaking. “Everything would’ve been better if Duncan survived. It should’ve been me. It...” He dipped his head in remorse. “It should’ve been me,” he whispered. 

“Don’t say that,” Carmen tried to tell him, a plea in her voice, but he avoided her gaze and dipped his head away. 

“And the Antivan elf,” the Guardian continued.

“Is it my turn now? I’m thrilled! Really,” Zevran replied flatly.

“Many have perished at thy hand,” he said slowly, in the same matter of fact tone of a Tranquil. “But is there any thou regret more than the woman by the name of-”

“Ah, you wish to provoke me,” the elf figured. “Is this wise, you think?”

“I only wish to know the truth. Dost thou regr-”

Zevran exhaled sharply. “Yes. The answer is yes, if that is satisfactory. Now let us move on,” came his clipped reply, the question very clearly having struck a nerve. 

“You frame your words as questions, yet you already know the answers.” Carmen crossed her arms. She didn’t understand what his play here was. “Must you continue this?”

He ignored her, however, and finally turned to Leliana. “Why does thou say the Maker speaks to thee, when all know the Maker has left?” His question had a slight accusatory undertone to it that surprised her. “He spoke only to Andraste, and thou knoweth this to be true. Dost thou believe thyself her equal?”

Her eyes grew wide. “I _never_ claimed to be her equal. I-”

“In Orlais, thou were someone,” the Guardian interrupted her, “but in Lothering, fear of losing thyself, of disappearing, it consumed thee. The brothers and sisters of the cloister’s criticisms and mockery hurt, but even so, thou revelled in it. ‘Twas a special kind of attention,” he pointed out, “even if negative.”

Leliana became indignant. “You think I did all that for...for the _attention?_ ” She scoffed, stung by his accusations. “I did _not._ I know what I believe.” 

“It is as thou says. There is strength in that, to pray to the unseen for a few breaths more. But heed the cultists’ lesson well. Peerest into temptation, and hubris will devour thee whole like a glutton,” the Guardian warned, before he stepped away from the entrance, allowing them passage through the temple. “The way is open. If ‘tis thy intent to persevere to the bitter end, and if the Gauntlet deems thine heart worthy, then a pinch of Andraste’s ashes shall be granted to thee.”

Before any of them could ask him of anything else, he vanished in front of their eyes, a spectre fading back to the nether. They shuffled uncomfortably into the next room, still unnerved by what transpired. No one spoke another word to each other. There was nothing more to say. Only another hall with more spectres that awaited them, with a riddle on their tongues to solve, each with a story of their own. Glad that a bard was by her side to offer the answers she was unable to, Carmen couldn’t believe her eyes when these spectres revealed their names. Men and women who had known Andraste, some personally, others as enemies. But they all knew her, as well as any mortal could know Andraste. 

It was like treading the halls of some ancient castle, where the hopes and dreams of many resided, but now cold, empty, and full of fading ghosts of what once was. Desperate to tell their story, but try as they might, the ghosts couldn’t speak except in riddles and the vain repetitions of times long passed. A reminder that what is, will one day also fade away and be forgotten, only to be gazed upon by some wayward traveller or pilgrim once, be thought on again for a moment, and then returned to its rest under the cobwebs of time for all eternity.

How long did these poor souls reside here, unable to share to a stranger their memories of a life that had ceased to exist ages ago? They were all here; all the people touched by Andraste in some way or another. Whether it was truly them, Carmen couldn’t prove or disprove. But perhaps that didn’t matter. Perhaps they were merely manifestations of the same people who were once alive, their remains left behind for the spirits as a humble offering. It was bittersweet to see that everything they felt, all the mistakes they made and the love they shared, it all still survived in some way, tucked away in this very temple. Whatever went through their heads to earn them their place in history, Carmen liked to believe that they did what their heart thought was best at the time. Even if some were ruined by venial sins like jealousy or vengeance. She had no place to judge them, for weakness was their nature as children of the Maker.

“You know, I didn’t think you believed,” Alistair said, eyeing the assassin to his right with surprise as they passed into the next hall. “In the Maker, I mean.”

Zevran chuckled. “Of course I do. How else do you think I’ve survived this long?” 

Still, Alistair remained dubious. “That is still a mystery, isn’t it?”

“Divine intervention, my friend,” the Antivan explained smoothly.

“ _Right,_ ” he drawled. 

“Speaking of intervention,” Carmen cut in, “I understand you’ve all heard of the Battle of Riverdane?”

Leliana looked at her incredulously. “Everyone has heard of the Battle of Riverdane,” she said obviously, teasing a bit. 

“Then you all heard that a high dragon appeared that day and rampaged the Orlesian forces, giving the Fereldans a major victory.” Carmen paused for a second, before continuing. “You know, they say the dragon came from the Frostback Mountains.”

They all went quiet. 

Alistair stopped her in her tracks for a moment. “Don’t tell me...”

Carmen shrugged at him and resumed walking. 

An astonished noise escaped him and he quickly caught up with her pace. “If you’re telling us that was the same dragon, then-”

“Then Carmen might have just killed the very beast that indirectly assisted in Ferelden regaining its independence.” Zevran clapped her on the back. “I believe it best not to mention this when we get back to Redcliffe?”

“Don’t forget it was the first dragon sighting in centuries, so unforeseen at the time that Divine Faustine II named this age after it,” Leliana added, just as stunned as Alistair was. 

Carmen didn't know whether to feel proud of herself, or if her Fereldan heritage should be stripped away. Sure, it was a dragon at the end of the day, but it was potentially _the_ dragon. She couldn't help herself in being filled with mixed feelings about this new revelation, but she refused to let it get to her head. “Eh, could just be coincidence.”

“Hmm, probably.”

Something stopped her in her tracks, and Carmen put her hands in front of their chests to halt them when the ground suddenly came to an end. They arrived at a circular chasm, its pit so incredibly deep and black, she couldn’t even see the bottom. There was a sense of pull, a stronger _gravity_ even, when it came to holes that were as dark as this. On the other side was their way forward, but no one could possibly make this jump. The gap was just far too wide. Any attempt would surely end in a plummet to her death. Something was missing. Something they weren’t figuring out.

“Could there be a secret passage somewhere we’re not seeing?” Leliana offered. 

They spread out in search for any clues. Zevran noticed something etched into the wall closest to them and beckoned her over. As she got closer, the image of several runes became clear. Unfortunately, she couldn’t understand their meaning. Something told her they were important, so Carmen stood there, stumped for a minute. Then she remembered why these runes were so familiar. She pulled out Brother Genitivi’s journal that she brought along with her for the trip. Flipping through the pages, Carmen found the translations to each rune. 

It took some effort, but she was able to translate the text on the wall and read it out loud for the others to hear.

“ _Cynicism...leads to downfall. Only those who believe...may cross._ ” Carmen’s face scrunched up distastefully as she finished. More riddles, it seemed. ‘Subtle’ wouldn’t exactly be the word she used to describe these.

Alistair hummed in thought. “A test of your belief in the Maker maybe?”

“Belief that He’s a raging arsewipe?” Carmen asked genuinely. When they gaped at her in shock, she put her hands up in surrender. “Hey now, every mortal is the Maker's children, including Andraste. Didn’t the scriptures say she was the Maker’s bride? So you had a bloke who married one of His children, then let her get set on fire.” Carmen sucked in a breath and smirked. “Says a lot about the Maker.”

Alistair tutted in disapproval. “It was metaphorical,” he insisted.

“The next convict will worship the ground you walk, mate. You'd be a grand attorney.”

“I do wonder sometimes, why the Maker abandoned her,” Leliana said quietly, becoming more introspective. “He bestowed upon her so many powers. Yet in the end, they were still not enough to save her.” Her jaw was set in mild confusion.

Zevran kicked a rock into the chasm, so deep he couldn’t even hear it hit the floor despite several seconds passing. “Let us hope our faith in Him will be enough to at least reach the other side, yes?”

Putting faith in the Maker that He wouldn’t let them fall to their demise? Now that was a gamble. As thrilling as the prospect was, Carmen was a coward, and most of all, she had trust issues. Coming to terms with these facts was what kept her alive for so long to begin with. But then, Leliana stepped to the edge, staring into the emptiness below her with deep contemplation. 

“It’s a leap of faith,” she realized. Leliana closed her eyes, murmuring a prayer to herself.

Observing her with a perplexed stare, Carmen glimpsed back at the others, who only offered her a helpless shrug in response. She was about to ask what was going through the bard's head, but before anyone could so much as say anything, much less stop her, Leliana lifted her foot and took one step forward.

Carmen gasped. “ _No!”_

She reached out her hand and her stomach nearly dropped when she saw what Leliana was doing. But instead of being forced to watch in horror as a friend plunged to her death as Carmen expected, Leliana still stood standing, against all possibility. It was surreal. Her breathing had quickened, and so did her heartbeat, she noticed. Alistair and Zevran were equally frozen in shock at what they just witnessed. 

Leliana wasn’t exactly the personification of calm at the moment either, her eyes wide as her feet stood on nothing, but _something_ was there that kept her from falling. Solid ground they couldn’t see with the naked eye. 

“Le-Leliana?” Carmen called out carefully, almost afraid that her voice would shatter the invisible ground the woman was currently standing on. 

She laughed nervously. “I’m okay!” 

Leliana then tentatively, and very slowly, walked across to the other side, and nobody dared move a muscle while they watched. When she finally reached the end, Leliana’s knees nearly went under and she collapsed against the nearest wall with a sigh of relief. 

Knowing that there was, indeed, some form of platform-like bridge, albeit a concealed one at that, Carmen and the others walked across exactly as Leliana did. At last, when Carmen reached her, she glared.

“Were you absolutely _insane?!”_ she hissed. Carmen struggled to reign in her emotions, and took a deep breath, lowering her voice. She massaged her temples to keep her distress at bay. “Leliana, I’m sorry, but what the fuck.”

Leliana cooed, “Aw, you _do_ care about me.”

“If you wanted my attention, ya didn’t have to go to such lengths,” she chided dryly. Carmen ran her hands through her hair frustratingly, ignoring Zevran’s snicker. “Maker’s balls, never thought that’d even work.”

"It doesn't matter whether you succeed or fail, just that you tried. Reckless optimism, ma cherie.” Leliana twinkled in that insufferably adorable smile. “It's fun sometimes. You should try it.”

Carmen scoffed in good humour. “You have enough of that for the both of us. I'm just lucky you can reach all the way back down to the ground and sweep me off my feet with it.”

“Mmm, and I'm lucky you're there to stop my wings from getting too close to the sun,” she purred.

The Warden shook her head with a soft groan and looked at her seriously. She hated how much it terrified her, hated how high her voice had gotten in that moment of pure, unbridled panic. It had gotten to the point where she once again wondered when she started worrying so much. The worry, it had all gotten so big, like a wound left unchecked. Carmen was usually one who hoped for the best and planned for the worst. But nothing could've prepared her for today's events.

She hesitantly put a hand on Leliana's shoulder. “Don’t...do that again.”

“Yes. Please, don’t,” Alistair hastily agreed from behind. “Not something I’d like to witness again, thank you very much.”

“Alright,” Leliana relented and dropped the playful act, turning back to Carmen. “I promise.” 

Carmen saw honesty in her eyes and nodded slowly in appreciation, before they continued on down the path, a little more out of breath than she'd care to admit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back >:) Just noticed I was gone for 2 months, meaning I haven’t updated since 2020, so sorry about that. Gave a few minor changes to the Gauntlet. Considering how old the Guardian is, since he’s a man of the Divine Age, you’d think there’d be some sort of language difference. Each age is about a century, and even in our world, dialect changes so drastically. 600 years back, give or take, and English as we know it would be pretty much unintelligible. It’s been 9 ages since Andraste’s death, I expected the Guardian would at least have some archaic words mixed in there. So this was my attempt.  
> Decided to end the chapter here because it was getting way too long, I figured I’d split it. At this rate, do you think they will be able to save Morrigan in time?  
> ___  
> Tumblr: [@ChaosRoid](https://chaosroid.tumblr.com)  
> Leliana Discord Server: [Invite Link](https://discord.com/invite/EjFYyJmVkV)


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